


All Smiles

by justheretoreadhannibalfics



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, Horror, M/M, Metaphors, Slow Burn, Sort Of, dark!Will, glasgow smiles, killer!will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretoreadhannibalfics/pseuds/justheretoreadhannibalfics
Summary: Will Graham had a rough career as a street cop, and now he works in the FBI, teaching. He doesn't smile, and has a reputation for being extremely creepy. He tries not to let the higher ups get a hold of him, but Jack Crawford is not easy to dissuade.---When it's easy to think like a killer, it's easy to hide being one.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 111
Kudos: 489
Collections: Favorite





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying for a much more horror-type style for this fic, but it's the first time I've tried it. We'll see how it goes.

Will Graham, resident professor at the Quantico training school for the FBI. Most knew him as a rather melancholy sort of person, rarely smiling and more often than not having something morbid on the tip of his tongue. His peers saw him as brilliant, but odd. His students saw him as borderline rude, but bearable. 

The problem Will had was with what his superiors saw.

Jack Crawford walked into his lecture hall one day and asked for his help. 

Will had met Jack before, at the opening of a museum focused on serial killers and other prolific criminals. The “Evil Minds” museum. Will had given Jack a piece of his mind about the name, and apparently had left an impression. 

See, the people above Will in the food chain typically saw him as the sharpest tool in the shed, and easily used for whatever task they needed done. He wasn’t affected by anything, they told each other, and he was good at his job. If you need a new pair of eyes, or a fresh mind on a case, go to Will Graham.

That was probably one of the reasons Jack was standing in front of him while Will packed up his things. 

Jack was smiling like there didn’t have to be something terrible going on in order for him to be there looking for Will. Will kept his neutral frown, which was the expression he wore more often than not, regardless of his company.

“What do you want, Jack?” he asked.

Jack’s smile grew, as if the mere fact that Will had recognized him was a victory. Will adjusted the glasses on his face, keeping his eyes down and his gaze distant.

“I was hoping I could get your opinion on a profile,” Jack said. 

Jack was clearly trying not to spook Will, which was almost funny. If he knew anything about Will, he should know nothing fazed him. Not anymore. 

Jack was also hoping for more than just a profile. Will knew that. He was trying to coax Will out of his hiding place in the lecture hall and lure him into the labs where he would work with a team to catch killers. 

Will wasn’t ignorant of how this would work. If he said yes now, Jack would ask him to work on the profile, then he would ask Will to stay on the team until the killer was caught. There would be another, there always was. Jack would ask, or demand, that Will stay on for that, and then Will would be caught in his snare. There would be no reason for him to stop helping Jack catch killers, and morally no one would stop if they were saving lives. 

“If you have a case file, I’ll look at it for you,” Will offered, “but I’m only going to consult on a profile. No field work, no more cases after this. Just an initial statement, and then I’m done. I’m not an agent, Jack.”

Jack wasn’t happy, and his smile faded. He sighed heavily, taking a step towards Will. Will didn’t move, but he prepared himself to move away in case Jack tried to initiate any type of physical contact. 

“You could be,” Jack said, “I’ve seen your work. I’ve read your file. I’ve read your papers. You could be an agent if you want. Why don’t you want to, Will?”

Will looked up and looked Jack in the eye for a moment before dropping his gaze to the collar of Jack’s shirt.

“If you’ve read my file, you know exactly why I don’t want to be in the field again. I’ve had enough killers in my life. I just want to teach the next generation of agents who will catch them,” Will stated.

Will knew Jack wasn’t going to give up. When he wanted something, he usually got it. He had heard some of the students refer to Jack as the guru. It was odd to hear him be called something like that, actually having a face and personality to pair with it.

“Post traumatic stress is something almost all of us deal with, Will,” Jack argued, keeping his tone soft, though it was clearly a struggle for the man, “and if you just agree to talk to someone about it, you can get help. I know a lot of agents who have a therapist, and it helps them. They are some of the best agents I know.”

Will sighed. This debate again. 

It wasn’t exactly that he didn’t think therapy could help him. There were a lot of reasons he didn’t want a psychiatrist to poke around in his head. 

“Compromise,” Will said at last, “I’ll look at this case. I’ll get a psych eval, and then the shrink can say whether or not you can keep using me. That’s all you’re going to get from me, Jack.”

Jack smiled again, nodding as if that was better than he expected. Will thought he might have been able to get away with less of a compromise, but what was done was done.

“Deal. If you’ll come with me, I’ll go over the case with you. Then, I’ll introduce you to the team so we can get to work.”

Will nodded and followed Jack to his office. 

\---

Someone had an obsession with Nordic history. 

Will looked at the pictures of the dead men, and what they had become after their deaths. In life, they had all looked similar to each other. White, about forty years old, brown hair and brown eyes. They were average height, slightly on the heavier side, and they were all bachelors. 

In death, they had all been given a scene from the viking stories.

The skin from their backs had been torn away, and their rib cages had been broken open and splayed to create wings, with their lungs stretched over them. A classic blood eagle. They were not surrounded by pools of their own blood, so they must have been killed somewhere else. The blood that dripped down their backs and legs, even down the arms of a few of them, showed they must have been alive for most of the process. Their hearts had still been pumping. 

There were four victims in total so far, and each of them had been left in their own backyards. Each of them had either been renting, or owned a house for themselves, and that was where this killer had decided to leave their work to be found. 

It was interesting that the killer hadn’t left them inside the house, since the men lived alone. It would have been just as effective that way. There had to be something significant about why they were left outside instead. 

They had been killed in their houses, at least. For each victim, there was a room in their house that could have been taken from a horror movie. Blood had been spattered over the walls, up to the ceiling in one case, had pooled and smeared all over the floors. The room wasn’t the same for every victim. One was a bedroom, one was a kitchen, and two of them were the main living space. 

Will thought that was a bit funny. A  _ living _ room being where they had died. He kept his neutral frown fixed on his face regardless. That was the sort of morbid thought that had earned him his reputation as creepy.

“Can I see the bodies?” Will asked, not bothering to glance up to Jack.

Jack hesitated to answer.

“I thought you just wanted to see the file,” he said at last.

Will shrugged, closing the file and setting it on his lap. He looked blankly at the jar of pencils and pens on Jack’s desk.

“You know you were going to ask me to look at the bodies. I’m just saving us both the trouble. I can make a better profile if I see them, so I don’t see why not,” Will replied. 

In truth, Will appreciated the effort this killer had put into their work. He thought it only appropriate someone who understood it be allowed to see it. The killer was owed some level of respect from someone who saw what they had done. There was something intimate about being able to be so close, close enough to touch, to the creation of someone who had felt so intensely motivated to create. 

“As always, you’re right,” Jack said, standing up and waving for Will to follow.

Will stood and tucked the file under his arm as they walked. The halls were mostly empty, making it so Will could hear others like echoes of memories as their footsteps bounced off the smooth walls and tiled floors. The lights reflected off the floors as if to show there was nothing wrong, to feign innocence in a place filled with the tortured souls of those who had to see the worst of humanity and had their foundations of trust broken by the tides of life. 

It was so easy for the agents of the FBI to fall, and hold on to those around them as a lifeline. The entire agency was a carefully balanced web of connections, where each agent held others up, and was held up in reciprocation. The connections between them was the only thing that kept the entire enterprise functioning.

Will was independent of all of that. He had no dependent connections with anyone. He was more like the spider, walking easily over the fibers of the web in order to navigate his own life. He knew which threads were adhesive, and which were stable enough to use. His prey would come, and ensnare themselves in the connections of those around him, and he could feel the disturbance they created, leading him to them like blood in the water to a shark.

The labs were sterile and bright. The steel tables held bodies covered in sheets, hiding the grotesque the same way the agents who worked there did in their own heads. Will could tell by the way the agents in the lab moved around the tools and tables, they hid the morbidity of the work behind dark humor and bright smiles that covered the true pain of what they had to see every day. 

“Agent Price,” Jack said, gesturing to one of the agents, “and Agent Zeller. They’ll be here whenever you need them to be. Agent Katz works over there, and she has more of a life than these two.”

Agent Price pouted dramatically, and Zeller raised an eyebrow. Another agent walked in from where Jack had said Katz worked, and she looked over them all. She quickly looked Will up and down before walking over and extending a hand.

“I’m Beverly Katz,” she said, “and you’re Will Graham.”

Will nodded, raising his own eyebrow in return.

“My reputation precedes me?” he asked.

Beverly grinned.

“I read your monograph on the rate of insect activity after death,” she explained, “and I overheard Jack saying he wanted to get your opinion on this case. I put the dots together.”

Will nodded. 

“Then not my reputation, but gossip, precedes me it seems,” he amended. 

Beverly laughed. Will only offered a very slight smile, just the turn of the corners of his mouth. 

“Good to meet you,” Beverly said, “I do fiber analysis, and you know where to find me if that’s something you need to hear about. Jimmy and Brian are always in here, though. They’ll talk your ear off if they find something interesting. You might not even have to go looking for them. I hope you can help us catch this guy. We’re a bit short on profilers, it seems.”

Will nodded. Beverly was clever, and concise. He liked her well enough. She didn’t mince her words, and said what she meant. She had a similar sense of humor to himself, and she didn’t seem bothered by much. Will could appreciate that. She didn’t hide trauma, she dealt with it and conquered it. It was admirable.

“Hey,” Price objected, “I don’t just talk without people asking first. I’m polite. I’ll just tell him what he needs to know.”

“And whatever else you think of in the moment,” Zeller piped in, “Let’s just hope the killer doesn’t happen to hit on one of your hyper-fixations.”

Price scoffed.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not the one saying I only give information to solicitors,” Zeller rebutted.

Will stepped up to one of the tables and pulled the sheet off the body, ignoring the two bickering for the time being. He felt the world fade around the edges as he looked at the flayed skin of the back. The ribs, broken and reshaped. The lungs stretched over the wings to create something meaningful. It was beautiful in its own right, and Will was almost sad to see it here, in such an unforgiving, unappreciative environment. These agents would never understand what it was they were seeing when they looked at work like this.

“Have you looked into the link to vikings?” Will asked, interrupting the two arguing agents.

Zeller sighed dramatically as Price stepped forward. He had a glint in his eye that told Will this must be one of his “hyper-fixations” Zeller had mentioned. The older man looked over the body with the kind of unattached attitude that could only be learned over years of working in this field. He no longer saw the bodies as former humans. They were just objects, just compilations of evidence. Just something that would lead them to incarcerating someone they saw as evil. Unfortunately for all of them, evil was not so easily identified, and Will had decided long ago that it didn’t truly exist.

“Ooh. You’re right. A blood eagle. Classic viking move. I haven’t seen one of these before in person. I should have put it together sooner. They even used the lungs to create the stretched wings. There were only two recorded instances in Norse literature, and it’s debatable whether they actually happened or are creations of fiction. Interesting thing, though, is that both recorded instances were in retaliation for the death of a father-”

“Perfect,” Jack interrupted, “Price, you look into the connection to that. Zeller, anything on cause of death yet?”

Zeller blinked in surprise and was about to respond when Will cut in.

“Mutilation,” he stated, “this was a punishment, and they lost enough blood to have died from it. This was done to them while they were alive. I don’t see any defensive wounds, so they may have been sedated or unconscious when it was done. It was either mutilation or blood loss, but the blood loss was due to mutilation, so mutilation it is. The killer wanted to make a point, and if the second, third, and forth bodies say anything, I’d say it hasn’t gotten through. At least not to whoever it’s supposed to get to.”

Everyone was looking at Will in silence, and he found it exasperating. It wasn’t like they hadn’t heard people who knew what they were talking about before. Maybe they really were in want of profilers. He would have to tell his students it would be easy for them to get in as profilers. The field was as good as empty from where Will stood. The world would be crawling with serial killers if this was the direction the FBI was headed.

“That’s what I was going to say,” Zeller said at last, making Beverly and Price snicker.

Zeller seemed embarrassed, and Will thought he might feel like he had just been upstaged in his own territory. Zeller seemed to have a relatively fragile sense of confidence when it came to his work. He knew he was good at his job, but saw anyone else competent as a threat. That was unfortunate for him, because Will was fairly competent in most things when it came to crime investigation. He saw things and made connections faster than a team of experts usually could. It wasn’t unusual for him to incidentally show up a single agent.

“Like hell you were about to say all that,” Beverly scoffed, “he just did your job and his job in the span of five minutes. You need to step it up, Brian. I bet Will Graham could do all of our jobs if we let him.”

Price had to hide his snickering behind a fake cough, turning away from Zeller and only barely managing not to giggle uncontrollably. Jack huffed a soft laugh as well, and seemed extremely pleased with his decision to bring Will into the investigation. Zeller seemed to be slowly deflating, and Will felt a bit bad for him. He hadn’t set out to insult anyone. He just wanted to get this over with so he could get back to his classroom and forget all about this killer. The one thing he couldn’t always predict in others was the amount of ire they would have towards him for simply being good at his job. 

“I don’t think I could do  _ your _ job, Agent Katz,” Will offered, “I was never any good at fibers. Lucky for all of you, I specialize in psychology and criminal profiles. I’ll try to only do my job, and let you do yours.”

Beverly laughed again, and Price grinned at Will. Zeller seemed to think that was meant as another insult to him personally. He just huffed and turned back to where he had his computer.

Jack clapped with finality, as if that was the end of it. The sound resonated off the sterile lab walls and tables, a sharp sound that snapped in Will’s ears and made him wish there was something soft nearby to absorb and muffle it a bit. Jack looked around at them all and nodded.

“Well, now that we’ve got that settled, I want everyone to go back to their respective jobs. Will, if you need more time with the bodies, just have Jimmy go over everything with you. If you have any questions, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to answer them.”

Will nodded, steeling himself for whatever rant Price might set to him. It might help to develop the profile, but most of it would probably end up being fodder for the useful bits. Price would be very helpful if Will ever found himself unsure of something having to do with the cultural reasoning behind a killer’s actions. He seemed like the kind of person to have a lot of information that was only useful once in a lifetime. He was in a profession where he was fortunate enough to come face to face with many odd things that would apply to his unique set of intelligence.

Jack walked out of the labs with the air of having settled everything he needed to have. He was clearly aware of the budding competitive spirit from Zeller, but he likely considered it a healthy amount, and would expect it to motivate Zeller to work harder. Will wouldn’t have minded much if it wasn’t for the feeling of disdain aimed at him. He wasn’t fond of being the villain that motivated someone to do their job.

“Would it be alright if I use some gloves?” Will asked, glancing up to Price.

Price nodded and pointed over to where the dispenser was.

“Yeah. We’ve got everything off the body, and we’ve been doing the autopsy, so touching isn’t a problem. Can’t wait to see what you find.”

Will frowned, but pulled the gloves on and walked over to the body again. Price was going to help Jack with motivating Zeller, meaning they were both going to use Will for their own purposes. 

This was why Will didn’t like working on teams.

Will traced the line of the wing with his eyes before he traced it with his fingers. The latex barrier was unfortunate, but Will could smell the blood, and feel the slippery flesh, the jagged edge where the killer had lost his patience and torn instead of cut. He tapped his fingers gently over the ribs, counting them absently. 

He could see the killer, in his mind. The person had broken, shattered wings that trailed behind them, and cracked glassy eyes. As they moved, they scattered dust like a broken porcelain doll having its limbs manipulated by a careless child. Despite the fragile medium of their form, the killer stood tall and wielded their soul like a weapon. 

He closed his eyes and imagined their kill.

The snap of each rib as it was broken away from the spine. The almost silent sound of the flesh being separated with a blade. The gasping breaths of the now exposed lungs as they struggled to supply oxygen to the small amount of blood that remained in the veins of the man. Reaching in and stroking the still beating heart as it lost fluid to pump. 

The attempt of a human body to continue living after having so much irreparable damage done to it was remarkable. It was fascinating, and couldn’t be quite explained by rational thinking. It was considered a miracle by anyone who knew enough to know why it was truly miraculous.

Will opened his eyes, the taste of blood lingering on his tongue. 

Price was watching him like he might say something that would change the entire investigation. Will hated when this happened. He didn’t like to leave that kind of impression on people, but it happened more often than not. He tended to make people think he could see things that weren’t there, in either an insane way or not. 

“Have we gotten a toxicology result from the body yet?” Will asked.

Price swallowed and looked over to where Zeller was pretending to be unaware of what they were doing. 

“Brian, we have toxicology yet?” Price called, clearly unsure how the other would react.

Zeller looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought my help was no longer needed,” he said, sounding less bitter than Will had expected. He was clearly being sarcastic, and he might actually be getting over it. “Not yet. They take forever, you know. I’ve asked for it to be put in the fast lane, but it’ll still take a few days at least.”

Will nodded. It was true. He knew some people who worked in the toxicology labs, and they were always busy up to their ears. He knew they were annoyed by agents who asked to have their tests hurried, and they even occasionally took longer on those out of spite. 

“Well, I’d like to know what comes of that, when we know,” Will said, “It’ll help for the profile if I know if the men were sedated or drugged in any way.”

Zeller nodded and finally walked over to where they stood by the body. 

“Well, there were several injuries to the head,” Zeller said, gesturing to where they were, “but I can’t say if those were to knock the guy out or if they were a side effect of being moved after losing consciousness. I’m as anxious for those results as you are, because I’d like to know if the killer carried this guy over his shoulder and banged his head on the walls, or if he bashed him to knock him out.”

Will nodded. Zeller certainly seemed to be feeling better than he had a moment ago. It would be good if he got over things that easily. It would prove that he could handle things the world would throw at him. 

Will stripped off his gloves and tossed them on his way out. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, “let me know if the tests come back before then.”

Will could hear Zeller mocking him for the mere suggestion as he walked back down the hall away from them. He knew the agent was going to have hard feelings towards him basically forever now, no matter what he did. The only thing he could do was work past it and around it. He wished Jack hadn’t decided to pit Zeller against him, because he had no interest in fighting with any of the team members. Perhaps with the exception of Jack himself, depending on how he continued to act.

Will pulled out his phone and dialed a number quickly as he walked. The other end was picked up as he walked through the door to his lecture hall. The sooner he got a hold of her, the better. 

“Will Graham,” Claire said, a suspicious grin in her voice, “to what do I owe the pleasure? You don’t call that often.”

Will hummed in agreement. He moved to his desk and made sure everything was in order. 

“I hope you don’t mind that,” he said, “you never used to. I recall being told I called you too often when I was just curious.”

Claire laughed.

“You’re right. I don’t mind, but it is good to hear from you. Tell me the higher ups didn’t finally get their claws on you.”

Will huffed.

Claire knew how much he didn’t want to be working on cases. She had been a member of the first team they had tried to get him onto. She had known from the beginning that he didn’t want to be there, and she had been the closest thing to a friend he had for years. She was clever, and not overly interested in snooping around in his personal business. Those were the only requirements for Will to like someone, generally. When Will Graham liked someone, and they were useful, he knew how to talk to them to get what he wanted and keep them happy at the same time.

“I’m afraid they did,” Will answered, “but I’m hoping to dislodge them as soon as I can. That’s where you come in.”

Claire hummed.

“Need some tests hurried along? You know how much we hate to hear that.”

Will nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see it.

“Yeah. I know. I was just hoping to get this case over with so Crawford can leave me alone to teach. I was hoping you could lend me a hand.”

Claire clicked her tongue for a moment, probably counting something in her head. She had never been one of Will’s students, being closer to his age than those of the kids he taught, but he felt she would have been a good one. She would have been polite and worked hard. 

“Jack Crawford? You’ve really got the big guns after you. I can help you out, but you owe me a bottle of your best whiskey. Let me just see where the tests are right now.”

There was a sound of shuffling things around and typing on a keyboard before Claire got back to him.

“We have a note here to take our time. Did Zeller ask for it to be fast tracked?”

“Yeah,” Will replied, picking up his bag and making sure his laptop was in it before he started heading out.

“Well, I can probably get the bulk of the results to them by tomorrow, but there are a couple more complex ones that will likely take a day longer. Is that acceptable, Professor Graham?”

Will hummed in consideration. She liked to remind him that he was a teacher rather than an agent, a bit of a joke between them since he was probably one of the only people who liked it that way. 

“I’ll give you a B plus, miss Bordeaux. If your work is exceptional, I might consider some extra credit.”

Claire laughed.

“Thank you, sir. Whiskey. Tomorrow. Don’t forget. And don’t go telling everyone I do favors for people. That would make my life hell.”

Will smiled slightly to himself. Another small smile that only touched his lips. 

“I won’t say a word to anyone. As for the whiskey, when have I ever forgotten a deal?”

Claire was probably grinning on the other end. She really enjoyed her job, even when she had to deal with uncooperative agents and tight deadlines. She was the best they had in the lab, and Will was glad she was one of the people he could get in touch with when he needed something. It was always advantageous to have connections with the best you could get.

“You’re right. See you tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

Will slid into his car and put his phone away. He mentally relaxed, making sure to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. He didn’t need to have migraines anymore. He’d had enough of those in the past, and enough doctors prodding him. He didn’t much like doctors, but at least they weren’t as bad as psychiatrists.

He hoped whatever shrink he got for the eval would be easy to get rid of, or easy to dupe.

Once he had driven away from the city, Will looked at himself in the rear view mirror and grinned. The skin of his cheeks stretched and puckered around the scar tissue, making his face contort into a grotesque expression of maniacal enjoyment. 

What no one at the FBI really knew, was what had caused Will’s PTSD. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Cannibal

Glasgow smiles  _ did _ actually originate in Scotland, much to the country's despair. It had become a common torture method for the so called “razor gangs” of the area. They would slit the sides of a victims mouth, and then hurt them more by kicking or cutting them. As the victims screamed, they would further tear the flesh of their face, thus causing themselves more pain and giving their attackers the sight of a terrible, impossibly wide grin. 

It almost looked like they enjoyed the pain, as they writhed, and screamed, and  _ grinned _ .

Will Graham had been a police officer in another life. He didn’t talk about his days on the force, with anyone. He had made enemies, and fewer friends. He had never been very good with people, but he had been damn good at catching criminals. 

The run in that had ended his career as a police officer was also the incident that made him decide to grow a good layer of scruff. 

Will slipped a bottle of his favorite whiskey into his bag before he took the dogs out to walk them the next morning. The small pack he had gathered sniffed around and trotted through the grass happily. They were always pleased to follow the routine Will had established for them. Whenever he gained a new dog, they fell into the rhythm quickly, and it was easy enough for everyone to adapt. Consistency was good for all of them. It gave them a sense of stability and comfort.

Will called them in and fed them, using the food he had made the past weekend. He had made his own dog food ever since he had seen a dog be poisoned from the commercial canned food. He cared about dogs more than he cared about people, and he didn’t want them to have to go through that. Poisoning was unnecessarily painful.

Will combed his hair, pulled on a blazer, and grabbed his bag. He bid each of the dogs goodbye and headed out to his car. He set his bag in the passenger seat and headed back to work. It was a long drive, but it helped to separate work from home in his head. 

Will headed to the toxicology labs before class, knocking lightly and waiting in silence for the door to be opened.

Carter was the one who opened the door, and he fixed Will with a look of bewilderment.

“Professor Graham,” he said, “What are you doing here?”

Will raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have something for Claire,” he said, “Why is it so odd for me to be here, Carter? Do you think I might have come to tell you there was something wrong with your final essay, and you have to rewrite it?”

Carter laughed nervously, stepping aside to let Will through the door. He had a flop of light brown hair that fell into his eyes constantly. He was a large young man, but he was timid. He had always felt intimidated by Will’s constantly serious tone and expression, and Will could tell the impression hadn’t worn off since he had finished his class.

There were computers and machines buzzing and humming all around them. The lights were low, the majority of the visibility due to screens of different stations glowing into the room. It left eerie shadows playing over the features of Will and the young man as they stood inside. Will could hear quiet movements of others somewhere nearby, though they were absorbed in their individual tasks, and paid Will no mind.

“There isn’t, is there?” Carter asked, chewing on his lip, “I mean, I know I’m not the best at that sort of thing, but I thought I did alright on the essay.”

“It was a joke, Carter,” Will said, “I’m really here to see Claire. I would have caught any mistakes you made before I passed you.”

Carter still seemed terrified, but he was saved by Claire walking in. She grinned at them both, looking at home in her lab coat. Will hadn’t known her before she worked here, but from what he could tell, she had always wanted to have this job. She was really good, too. He hoped Carter could learn something from her.

“Well, Mr. Graham. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. The tests just got done, and I’m ready to send them up. Do you have my payment?”

Will pulled the bottle of whiskey from his bag and handed it over. Claire studied the label before nodding in approval.

“Do me a favor and wait...” Will paused, looking at his watch, “about seven minutes after I leave before you send them up. Is it all of them, or are some taking longer?”

Claire smirked.

“You can tell me I’m amazing later,” she said, flipping her short blond hair over her shoulder, “It’s all of them. Feel free to offer me more whiskey in the future. You know I’m a sucker for the good stuff.”

Will huffed a quiet laugh and nodded.

“You’re amazing, Claire. If I need anything in the future, you’ll be the first person I come to. Hopefully you won’t hear from me again soon, though, right?”

Claire nodded.

“That’s the hope, sir. Carter, you okay? You look spooked.”

Carter coughed nervously. He shifted his weight and looked down at the tiled floor.

“I’m alright, ma’am. Graham, sir, if you needed something, why didn’t you ask me? I could have helped,” Carter said.

Will shrugged.

“You’re alright, Carter, but Claire is the best down here. She’s good, really good. If you want a future here, learn something from her. You’ll not find a better example.”

Claire shook her head with a smile. 

“Carter, why don’t you go check to see if the gas-chromatograph is done yet? I’ll show you how to read the results when I’m done here.”

Carter nodded and made his way out of the room with a touch of color rising to his cheeks. He was smart, but no one was as good as Claire when it came to all the chemistry stuff that took place behind the scenes in the FBI. If there was anything that needed to be found out, she was the one to go to. Will really did hope his former student could learn something from her. 

“I think he likes you,” Will said.

Claire smiled. She had always been able to read through his flat tone, at least better than others. 

Will didn’t always mean to speak in such a monotone way. It was just easier to do when he didn’t smile while talking. It had become a habit after a few years, and he rarely sounded emotive at all anymore. 

Claire had never been bothered by it.

“Well, if that helps him focus, then fine. If it distracts him, then I might have to ask someone else to be his mentor,” she said, “but really, are you doing alright? I know you don’t like working with a team. Jack can be pretty tough on his people.”

Will shrugged.

“I can make do,” he said, “and if all else fails, I can just quit my job completely, right?”

Claire nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, if that happens, I can probably hook you up with another job. I know some people.”

Will huffed a soft laugh.

“Alright. Thanks. Remember, seven minutes.”

Claire saluted, raising her bare arm up to her face and studying the wrist intently. Will rolled his eyes and headed out to the other labs to check in with the team. He had plenty of time before classes were meant to start. 

Will made his way leisurely, counting in his head to calculate when the results would be getting to Zeller. Will hoped having the results so quickly would help Zeller’s attitude as well as get him out of there sooner. He really didn’t want to be working for Jack very long. 

Price was standing closer to the door, bent over one of the bodies, when Will walked in. He was intent in his task, not even glancing up as Will entered. His brow was furrowed into a crease of concentration, and his tongue poked into his cheek in intervals as he worked. 

Will wasn’t completely sure what he was doing, but he was content to leave him to it. He was here for Zeller anyway.

Zeller was back at his computer, reading something with the same level of concentration Price was showing. It was good to know they took their jobs so seriously.

“Thought I’d stop by and see if we have the lab results yet,” Will said, coming to a stop next to Zeller’s computer.

Zeller jumped slightly, apparently also having been ignorant to Will’s presence. He looked at Will like he had appeared out of thin air, and took a moment to process what Will had just said to him.

“Oh. Yeah. I just got them, actually,” he said, seeming perplexed by the very fact, “I was just reading through them when you came in.”

Will nodded. Claire had done her job, and done it well, as always.

“Can you print them off real quick before I have to get to my class?” Will asked, “that way I can have a profile up before the end of the day. Unless something big changes.”

Zeller nodded absently, still seeming unsure of what to think about how quickly the results had come in. He printed the pages off and handed them to Will without even sparing him another glance. 

That was fine with Will. He didn’t need eye contact or friendly gestures. He just needed jobs to get done. He took the papers back down to his lecture hall and prepared for the day of classes. 

Will went over old cases with his students, trying to convince them to use their brains to connect the pieces and create a full picture. He tried to make them realize how each piece of evidence gave clear insight into the mind of a killer, and how that could help them predict their actions and catch them. If these kids were ever going to be able to save lives, they had to understand the thinking of people who ended them. Understanding was going to be their best tool, and their best weapon going into the FBI. Without it, they would only be building a dictatorship where the people weren’t represented.

Will wondered if he could ever really keep the students he taught from falling into the traps the country had built to keep their focus away from the flaws in the system. He liked to think he had some sway over their ability to think independently of outside influence. He wanted them to go out and not just let themselves be tools for those higher up. 

Funny coming from him, he thought bitterly. He was letting Jack use him, and he hadn’t even put up much of a fuss over it. Jack had just walked in and asked as nicely as the man knew how, and Will had agreed despite everything he had said in the past regarding his work. 

At least he didn’t plan to be doing it for long.

Will had the profile for the killer all typed up and ready for Jack when the man walked into Will’s hall just before his final lecture for the day. He walked right up to Will’s desk and waited to be acknowledged. Will let him stand for a minute, still looking over some papers.

“Do you need something, Jack?” Will asked, not looking up from his work.

Jack turned his body slightly, just short of a spin. He was really trying to make his presence seem casual, despite everything. 

“Zeller said the test results already came in,” Jack mentioned, as if it was just an interesting thing.

Will hummed in agreement. 

“Yeah. I got the results from him this morning, and I have the write up finished. Here you go,” Will answered, picking up the sheets of paper and extending them toward Jack in offering. 

Jack took the papers with some hesitation. He still had something to say, and Will just had to wait until he ran out of patience and said it. Will continued his work with his papers as he waited. He had learned long ago that the best way to get someone to talk was to be silent.

“Zeller said the results came in a lot sooner than he would have expected.”

Will hummed noncommittally. He didn’t answer other than that, making Jack get to the point if he wanted Will to talk.

“And I hear you know a few of the techs that work down in the labs.”

Will shrugged.

“I do,” he said.

Jack was growing irritated, but he was going to keep at it. He was stubborn, and it often served him well. There were only a few times in his mind of his stubborn determination backfiring. If Will wanted something from the man, it would be easier to make him think it was something they both wanted than to change his mind after it was already set.

“Are you expecting to be off the case now that you gave me this?” Jack asked, lifting the written profile up for emphasis. 

Will nodded sharply.

“I agreed to write a profile for you. Then you have to wait for the psych eval before you try to get me to look at more dead bodies.”

Jack huffed unhappily, but nodded.

“Alright. I think Doctor Bloom would be your best match for the eval-”

“No,” Will cut in.

Images of Alana’s soft features and glossy hair flashed in front of his eyes. Her bright smile and glittering eyes. 

“Not Bloom,” Will reiterated.

Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t prod further.

“Alright, Will. Do you have someone else in mind, then?” he asked.

Will shook his head. He just couldn’t entertain the thought of giving Alana a free pass to analyze him. They had been doing fine in their silent truce to this point. Will liked to think of her as a friend. He didn’t want to ruin that now.

Not to mention the potential danger of letting her get to know what was in his head. He didn’t want to picture the results of a mistake like that.

“I’m sure she could recommend someone to you who would be just as good, or better,” Will said, “I just don’t want her to do it.”

Jack sighed heavily.

“Fine. Once I find someone, you are getting an eval. Then, if they say I can, I get to have you consult on more cases.”

Will pressed his lips together, not very pleased. He didn’t like how Jack seemed so intent on having him keep consulting. He made it sound like he didn’t have a choice. If Jack kept acting this way, Will might not have any choice but to actually quit like he had said to Claire.

“I am going to keep being a teacher, Jack,” Will warned, “I’m not switching to helping you full time. I want you to be aware and conscious of what that means.”

Jack was even less happy now. He huffed and shifted his weight like he might strike Will.

“I am aware,” he stated, his tone dark.

Will nodded. He didn’t say anything else, because he knew anything he could say would either negate his own stance, or would make Jack more angry. Either way, he didn’t want to have to deal with it.

Jack stood in silence for another minute or so before he nodded with finality and walked out. Will sighed in relief and got back to grading papers until the students filed in for the last lecture of the day.

\---

“Hello, professor Graham. I am doctor Hannibal Lecter. Agent Crawford asked that I introduce myself to you while I am here today.”

Will looked up at the plaid tailored suit that stood near his desk. The precise angle that the slacks hit the Italian leather shoes, and the perfect crease in the fabric, let Will know what kind of person Jack had sent in to him. He had walked with nearly silent steps, which was unusual for anyone walking through Quantico. He wouldn’t have expected them of anyone dressed like this man either. Men who wore clothes like that wanted to be noticed, usually.

If this was the psychiatrist Alana had recommended, then Will trusted he would be polite. Not that there was anything to refute that idea. People who wore tailored three piece suits didn’t typically turn out to be lacking manners, though they could lean towards intrusive depending on their brand.

“So, you’re a psychiatrist, and Alana Bloom recommended you for my psych eval,” Will said.

Doctor Lecter tipped his head curiously. He was almost unnaturally still, and slight in his movements. It was as if he was perfectly aware of how the smallest gesture could be seen, so he opted to only make one at a time. He had perfect control. It was odd to see in anyone, especially in a psychiatrist. They usually tried desperately to be seen as just another human to their patients, to create a feeling of comfort.

“Yes,” Doctor Lecter replied, “though that is the relative extent of my own knowledge concerning the situation. I’d be grateful if you could enlighten me.”

Will risked a glance up to the man’s face, avoiding direct eye contact. He had an angular face with an expression reminiscent of Will’s own blank interest. His hair was neatly combed away from his face, and his eyes shone dark brown, almost seeming maroon when they shifted in the light.

Perhaps it was the way he wasn’t smiling, the way Will wasn’t. Maybe it was the intrinsic trust Will had of those Alana recommended. Whatever the cause, Will nodded and gestured to a chair that sat nearby, bidding the doctor sit.

“Thank you,” Doctor Lecter said, pulling the chair closer, so he was sitting across the desk from Will.

It was an odd sort of position, then. Will was at the desk, which would normally give a sense of protection and power, while the psychiatrist sat in front of him. The power dynamic wasn’t supposed to be like that between doctor and patient. Will was more curious now. The fact that Doctor Lecter had allowed it to be that way spoke something of genuine interest further than just professional. Or perhaps he was just trying to make Will feel like he had the power still.

“I’m just a teacher, as you know,” Will began, to which the doctor nodded, “well, Jack wants me to consult on some of his cases. I said I would help him with one, and then get a psych eval to determine if I could help him more. I finished with the first one yesterday, so apparently he’s really anxious to get me on another one. That’s where you come in. I need you to tell him it wouldn’t be good for me to work with him, but that I am still capable of doing my job as a teacher. It’s a slippery slope, I know, but that’s what I need. It’s the only way I’m going to get him off my back.”

Doctor Lecter leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He considered it for a moment.

“As you may have guessed, Will, I cannot evaluate you here and now. We must set a time to meet in my office. As that is, I would like to know why you do not wish to work with Jack. You would be saving lives, after all.”

Will nodded.

“I know that,” he said, “but I was a police officer before I came here. I had some bad experiences in the field. I struggle with PTSD, and I just don’t really like the idea of putting more pictures of violence into my head to fuel my nightmares.”

Doctor Lecter nodded. He seemed to understand that.

“Is the trauma from violence that was done to you, or to someone else that you feel you may have protected if you had acted differently?” he asked.

Will closed his eyes for a moment. It was exactly the kind of thing a psychiatrist would ask.

Will remembered feeling the knife as it tore through his cheek. Then the other side. The cuts to his ribs, legs, and arms. Hearing his own screams, almost drowned out by the sound and sensation of the flesh of his face tearing and pulling apart from the strain and contortions of his face as he writhed in pain.

“To me,” he answered, “I have survivor's guilt, to be sure, but that’s not what did me in, in the end.”

The doctor studied Will like a specimen in a glass case. It was slightly disturbing, but it was better than the way some people looked at him. He was smart. Will could tell that. He just wasn’t sure how smart, and if that was going to be a problem for him.

“You are not fond of eye contact,” Doctor Lecter noted.

Will chuffed lightly. That was an easy enough observation, but it was one not many people dared to point out. It just added to his general frightening presence.

“Or of smiling, you’ll learn. I’m not very expressive, and I’m not very social. Makes me the perfect agent, if you’re my boss. Other agents on my level always end up either hating me or being frightened of me. I don’t do well on teams.”

Lecter nodded.

“Another reason you may not desire to work on Jack’s,” he concluded, “have you discussed these issues with Jack directly?”

Will scoffed.

“Jack does what he wants. I’ve had plenty of other people try to recruit me for their teams. I got tired of explaining everything to them after the first three. Jack just wants me to get a therapist and keep working until I collapse. Only the opinion of someone he respects is going to get him to leave me alone.”

“And you believe he respects me,” Lecter thought aloud.

Will shrugged.

“He respects doctor Bloom, and she recommended you. I’m sure he did his own research on you before asking you to come, so you passed some sort of test in his book. He respects you enough,” Will said.

“But he does not respect you.”

Will frowned. Doctor Lecter was picking apart his words. That was a dangerous thing, for both of them, if he kept at it. 

“Not enough,” he replied flatly, “to him, I’m just someone who has a skill he wants to utilize. He respects me enough not to yell at me unless I really goad him into it, and enough to give me the illusion of choice. He let me make my own set of requirements when it came to our little deal.”

They were both quiet for a moment before the doctor responded.

“What skill do you have that is so valuable to the FBI that the head of the behavioral sciences unit must make deals and compromise in order to get an  _ unwilling _ participant on his team?” 

Will covered his mouth when he couldn’t hold back a smile, and he ducked his head. It wasn’t often someone could actually make him smile without him meaning to. 

“I have to confess that’s an odd bit of information,” Will said, schooling his expression once more, “and I have to warn you that I don’t much like being psychoanalyzed. I’m not a fan of psychiatrists in general. I also know most of the tricks, so therapy doesn’t typically work on me.”

Doctor Lecter nodded in consideration. It looked to Will like he would file that information away and willingly ignore it as he proceeded with whatever plans he had.

“I shall keep that in mind,” he said, “though I am still curious about your valuable skill.”

Will nodded, relaxing a bit back into his own chair. He could only warn people, and then what they did was not his concern. 

“I have the ability to think like anyone,” he said flatly, “I can see what someone has done in the past, and read what they were thinking and feeling as they did it. It’s like I get into their head, though I think Alana would argue it’s me letting them into mine.”

Doctor Lecter was very interested now. He sat forward the smallest amount in his chair. Most people wouldn’t even have noticed the change in his posture. Most people weren’t Will Graham.

“I imagine that makes you quite the accomplished profiler,” he said.

Will nodded, rolling a pen across his desk absently. He didn’t really care, but he knew he needed to get this guy on his side. The only problem he saw was that Doctor Lecter didn’t seem easily convinced. It would be just Will’s luck to get a shrink that would have an ethical issue with giving him the evaluation results he wanted. If they really wanted to help him, they would tell Jack to leave him alone and let him teach. 

Will wasn’t convinced yet that Lecter would be willing to take his side. That could mean two possible results, both not what Will wanted. They would both end poorly for someone.

“So I’ve been told,” Will answered coldly.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more insight into Will's past

“Will, there’s a new case that Jack wants you on.”

Beverly was forward as ever. She stood in front of Will’s desk, right as he was sitting down to start grading papers. She stood as if she had been there a hundred times before, her weight distributed unevenly on her hips and her arms crossed. Will thought she likely kept her casual stature everywhere she went. It would serve her well, as people would always think she knew what she was talking about. She delivered the news like she already knew how Will would respond.

“Jack agreed that I wouldn’t help him with any more cases unless Doctor Lecter says it’s alright. I have my evaluation set for tomorrow. Can’t he wait that long at least?”

They both knew the answer to that. Jack was anything but patient. 

“Yeah, well this one’s a doozy,” Beverly replied, “ever heard of a Glasgow smile?”

Will hesitated for only a moment, but he knew Beverly noticed. Images flashed through his mind again, the blood covering his vision and tainting everything red. The grinning faces of the monsters that reveled in his pain. He heard their cackles over his screams and his tearing flesh.

“Yep. That’s what we’re dealing with,” Beverly continued, thinking he was simply familiar with the method, and not realizing exactly how well acquainted he was with it, “There have been two people killed. Same MO. Ankles tied, each hung from a tree, Glasgow smile from ear to ear.”

Will closed his eyes and swallowed. 

“Tell Jack I said no,” he said.

Beverly looked surprised. It seemed not many people dared say no to Jack.

“What? Really?”

Will nodded, putting his papers away and standing up. 

“I said no. I am not going to work that case, no matter what Doctor Lecter says. I said no, and there is nothing he can do to change my mind. If he asks again, I will quit and move across the country to get away from him. This is my final decision.”

Beverly’s jaw dropped, but she seemed more impressed than anything else. 

Will stood up from his desk and started walking out of the classroom. He didn’t want to be there when Jack was given his response, and he was done with classes anyway. He was going to go home, turn off his phone, and take his dogs on a walk. Jack would have to cool down before he could talk to Will again.

There had been a time when Will wouldn’t have had the guts to do something like that. He had been the police chief’s favorite officer, because he never refused an order, and he was good at his job without creating obstructive connections. 

Will knew better now. He knew that if he wanted to protect himself, he had to say no. He had to have the guts to make some people angry. He had to learn to get what he wanted. 

It had been a painful lesson.

Will felt a bit bad for making Beverly deliver that message to Jack, but he knew she would be able to deal with it. She didn’t allow Jack’s anger to affect her if it wasn’t directed at her. She would be fine.

Will let the dogs out and walked with them into the field, taking deep breaths of the clean air. The dogs ran ahead of him, milling through the trees and prancing through the tall grass. Their steps made padding sounds on the soft earth, and they would occasionally snap a twig or find a dry leaf that crunched underfoot. Will followed where they led for the most part. He would be able to find his way back no matter what direction they went. He just looked around at the trees and rocks as he walked, keeping an eye on the dogs as he did. 

Having seven dogs made his job a bit more  _ exciting _ when they went out like this. The smaller ones tended to make a break for it if they thought it would be fun. Tracking them down after could stretch into the hours of dark after sunset. Will didn’t even bother carrying a flashlight with him anymore. The fireflies and the moon would light his way well enough for him to make it home if he ended up being out that late.

When he passed by the first body, Will grinned, feeling the pull of the skin from his scars. 

Beverly said there had been two people _ killed _ , hung from trees with a Glasgow smile. In truth, what she should have said was that two bodies had been  _ found _ . There were more to be found if the FBI knew where to look. They were far enough into the woods that they might not  _ have _ to be attributed to Will if they were ever found. They hung from their ankles, bound with perfect and secure knots that Will was actually very proud of. Their cheeks had been cut from the corners of their mouths to their ears, having been torn the last few inches by their own screaming. 

No, Will didn’t need to be more  _ sociable _ . He didn’t need to make  _ friends _ . He had plenty of friends, though it could be said the people he had chosen were of a lower caliber than he should have. They had all deserved this end, in some way or another. He wasn't a thoughtless killer, like some. These people truly were despicable, and he had done everyone else a  _ favor _ by stringing them up and giving them a smile. 

The ones that had been found were those that Will was  _ very _ proud of. They had been truly terrible in life, and he wanted to let everyone know they weren’t a concern anymore. 

He didn’t need to be thanked, honestly. He had what he wanted simply by seeing the smiles of his friends at times like this. He liked to walk through the trees and be greeted by the grinning faces of those who had wronged others, and had been silenced forever. He didn’t need anything else.

\---

“Agent Crawford has informed me that he would be very grateful to me if I allow him to continue having you consult for him.”

Will scoffed. He hadn’t thought Jack would go so far as to  _ ask _ the shrink for the results he wanted. 

Maybe he had underestimated how much Jack wanted his help. There had to be something pushing him to get Will’s insight. There had to be a killer, or a case, that was digging into his flesh and tearing at him. Something that would make him want to stretch the rules to get what he wants.

“I hope you are not a highly suggestible individual, then,” Will replied, relaxing back into the chair opposite Doctor Lecter, “unless of course you are likely to allow  _ me _ to give you suggestions.”

Doctor Lecter smiled, and he seemed genuinely amused. Maybe he had a similar sense of humor to Will. That would be interesting to see in a psychiatrist. 

Doctor Lecter had his legs crossed, and he was wearing a suit that was equally as loud as the one he had worn to introduce himself to Will. His hair was not combed as harshly, letting a small fringe fall over his temple. Will wondered if he was trying to make Will feel comfortable. He certainly  _ should _ have been, being in his profession, but the ostentatious office, paired with his meticulous appearance would normally have done little to make someone feel at ease. The walls were tall, and stacked to the ceiling with full shelves of books. The office had two levels, and seemed to loom around them with a history of its own. The man sitting across from him seemed to have grown accustomed to the space, filling it with his presence and personality. This was a space one could study to learn about the doctor, but Will wondered if it could be trusted.

“I have never been accused of being suggestible,” Doctor Lecter replied calmly, “but I see it as a bit of a competition, if you will. Whoever makes their case best, with the most evidence to support their side, wins. That doesn’t necessarily determine my decision, but it does entertain me.”

Will covered his mouth again and ducked his head to hide his smile. That was twice in as many meetings. Will wasn’t used to people catching him off guard. It was a dangerous game. 

“Then I hope I can entertain you,” Will said, “Is there anything I can say that will ensure you rule in my favor?”

Doctor Lecter smiled. His smile was a small, polite thing that served more the purpose of seeming friendly than it did to actually show happiness. It wasn’t quite a true smile, but Will felt it was better to see that someone was putting in the effort to be nice than to be like him.

“The truth would be preferable,” the doctor answered coolly.

Will scoffed, pressing his fingers against a seam on the armrest of the chair.

“That’s what all psychiatrists say, isn’t it?” he asked.

Will felt the eyes of the doctor searching over him, and he felt exposed. He rarely felt that others could see more of him than he allowed, but Doctor Lecter was pulling at the corners of his outward persona. It was like he could tell what was real, and what was fake, and wanted to peel away the false pieces to reveal everything that Will was.

“The truth is always preferable, Will, though I understand your mistrust for those in my profession. It’s a rather intrusive thing to have thrust upon you unwillingly. I imagine it feels even more so when you are able to understand the motives and thoughts of others so keenly.”

Doctor Lecter laid it all out like it was common knowledge. Will knew it was odd to find someone who knew how it felt to be in his position. It was even more rare to find someone who openly admitted they were a part of that cycle. 

The doctor watched Will for his reaction. Will knew that was what he was doing. For someone so aware of his own minute gestures, he must be skilled in the observation and interpretation of others’ as well. He was probably able to read body language as easily as he could read a book, which would have served him well in his profession to this point.

Unfortunately for him, he was working with Will Graham now.

Will wasn’t like Doctor Lecter when it came to body language. He didn’t stop all expression in order to be unreadable. He simply slipped into the mind of who he wanted to be read as. He understood others so intimately that he was able to act exactly as he wanted to be perceived. All the way down to the smallest micro expressions. He could fool anyone. He wasn’t just acting. He was, essentially, becoming. He would even be able to fool a polygraph if it ever came to it.

“The motives of most psychiatrists are to get into my head so they can tell all their psychiatrist friends that they finally got me under their microscope. They all just want to be the authority on Will Graham,” Will answered. He released the pressure he had put on the seam of the chair, and made sure to relax his muscles.

Will made sure his tone was even, rather than upset. He didn’t want to show any prejudice against Doctor Lecter, though he wanted to get his point across. He wanted to see how this one would respond to being called out. 

Doctor Lecter tilted his head curiously.

“Are you quite a topic of conversation among psychiatrists?” he asked, “I am surprised that I have not heard of you before now if that is the case.”

Will frowned. 

He hadn’t expected that. Alana had  _ never _ mentioned him to her friends? He didn’t mind that, but he did find it odd. Most psychiatrists would flaunt even having met him once as a sign that they had insight into his inner workings. He supposed he should thank Alana for respecting him more than that. Doctor Lecter really hadn’t heard of him before, though? At all?

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Will admitted, “I would be hard pressed to find a psychiatrist who doesn’t have a preconceived notion of me, yet here you are. Apparently having never even heard my name before Jack Crawford. How odd.”

Doctor Lecter nodded, seeming to completely agree with Will’s observations. He made a note on his pad of paper, and Will wondered what he might be saying to his future self. Perhaps he was making a note to ask Alana later, about why she had never talked about Will. It would have been somewhat humorous if he were considering that Will had some narcissistic thoughts, as Will knew that was not true, or at least not on this particular subject.

“Perhaps the situation is to our advantage, then,” Doctor Lecter decided, “As I have no preconceived notions of you. You are capable of shaping my impression of you in the entirety.”

Will nodded.

It was a pretty good thing to be able to do, if it was the truth. He could hardly imagine any psychiatrist making it to this point without having an idea of what to expect already. It was hard to get a read on the doctor, too. His perfect control over his body language made it hard to know what he was thinking. He might have been lying to Will with every breath, and Will didn’t know if he would be able to tell.

It was fascinating.

“What do you want to know, Doctor?” Will asked, shifting his weight in the chair.

Doctor Lecter studied Will for a moment, as if trying to decide exactly how to dissect him. It wasn’t exactly intrusive, though. Will had seen people so intent to open him up that they had rushed in blind. The way Doctor Lecter was going about it was far more careful and considerate. He wanted to learn, while causing as little damage as possible.

It was refreshing.

“You told me you have nightmares,” Doctor Lecter said calmly, “I think that would be a good place to start today. I would like you to tell me about them. If there is a prominently repeated one, begin there.”

Will nodded. He had been expecting the doctor to come back to those sooner than later. People always wanted to know about the nightmares. It was a novelty, and people always thought they had secret meanings in them. Will thought that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. His dreams didn’t have any secrets. Not from him.

“The one I have the most often is just a replay of the attack,” Will admitted, looking down at his knees and fidgeting, “The one right before I quit being an officer.”

It was true. He spent more nights than not reliving the horror that had driven him away from police work. It was always fresh in his mind, ready for him to access if he wanted it or not. He didn’t even need to sleep to have the full experience again. 

Doctor Lecter nodded in understanding. It had been the expected answer. Will knew it would be. Reliving trauma was something most people with PTSD had to deal with. He knew it was true, and the doctor knew it too. 

“Do your dreams remain loyal to what happened in reality, or do they warp and become more horrific?” he asked.

That was a new one. Most people didn’t want to make Will uncomfortable by asking more questions about the dreams. They felt uncomfortable themselves, and so they would move on to other topics. Psychiatrists usually asked him to describe what happened in the dreams, rather than ask about specific potential aspects of them.

“Most of the time it’s accurate to reality,” Will replied, “but every now and then I get some monsters. Reality is usually worse than fiction, in my experience.”

Doctor Lecter tilted his head at that, seeming curious. Will wondered exactly how much Lecter would be able to surprise him before he learned the man’s patterns. It had already been more than most people got away with. Will was hard to catch off guard, or throw off balance. He had enough experience with people that he knew the algorithms. 

“If your experience was truly that horrific, I wonder why Agent Crawford would want to go against your wishes to put you through it again,” Lecter said.

Will shrugged.

Jack didn’t know the half of what had happened. He just knew that Will had been attacked, and that he didn’t want to do the work. He knew that Will had some ability that could come in handy, and that Will didn’t want to help.

“He isn’t aware of the extent of the damage,” Will said, “and he thinks I can just go to therapy and get fixed.”

Doctor Lecter seemed to understand that. He looked up to the top of the wall behind Will and seemed to be remembering something of his own. Will hadn’t even realized how searing his gaze had been until it was no longer directed at him. He felt like he could relax more now that the doctor wasn’t looking directly at him.

“Therapy is beneficial to anyone who will allow it to help. Even those who do not have intense trauma find it can help with what ails them. Do you think you are an exception?”

Will grimaced. He had heard this before. People thought he was arrogant for not wanting to talk to a stranger about what kicked around in his head. He was too proud to let himself be helped, they all thought. Will had heard it all, having found himself with plenty of insulted therapists and acquaintances in the past because of how they saw it.

“I’ve tried before,” Will said defensively, “but I know all the tricks you guys use. I can see what you are doing, and forgive me for not wanting to have someone dig around in my mind until they find the little trinket of information they can write an article about and be known for. I’m really not that sorry that I don’t go around telling everyone about my feelings. I’ve let the wounds heal. Opening them up again might make the scars smaller in the long run, but I’ve gotten used to it and want to be able to function in the meantime.”

The doctor’s eyes snapped back down and fixed on Will. 

“I am not upset with you for your words, Will,” he said, “and I admire your ability to understand where you stand. Most patients I see come with the hope that I can tell them.”

Will was taken aback. 

Doctor Lecter really was making a habit of surprising him. He hadn’t ever had anyone hear all that and say they weren’t upset with him for it. It wasn’t as if he really expected the doctor to be upset, but he hadn’t expected to hear him say it. 

And on top of that, Lecter had just told Will he  _ admired _ something about him. Something that had to do with his  _ mental health _ . 

It was how sure Will was. He hadn’t come into Lecter’s office, lost and confused, hoping to have someone map out where he stood. Will knew what he struggled with. He knew what his problem was. He knew what was wrong with him. For some reason, Doctor Lecter thought that was admirable.

“You have found a balance within yourself, Will, where you are able to function in your life, so long as no one upsets it. While it is an impressive feat for someone who has been put through so much as you have, it is not a healthy balance. You must fortify yourself against the changes that may come. I am going to recommend that you begin to have regular sessions with me. I will not open your wounds, but rather help you to understand how to work the damaged parts of yourself until they become healthy again. I will tell Agent Crawford that you may work with him, but I will be monitoring your mental state and can take you off a case if I see fit. I do apologize that this is not what you wished, but Jack will not be pleased with me either.”

Will scowled.

That was not what he had wanted to have happen. 

Doctor Lecter was supposed to take a side, not make some convoluted compromise that served himself in the long run. He was supposed to make either Will or Jack happy, not make them both angry. 

Will rolled up the sleeve of his flannel, not really thinking beforehand. He was just upset.

“You see these, Doctor Lecter?” he demanded, showing the scars that littered his arm, “This is what happens when I work in the field. This is what I want to avoid. The next scar I get is on your conscience if you do that.”

Will hadn’t meant to sound so childish and upset. He had just wanted to make the man understand what he was dealing with. It wasn’t just psychological pain that he had been through. It wasn’t just a single injury that had made him leave. He wanted Lecter to understand what he would have to face if he went out again.

Doctor Lecter frowned, seeming genuinely sad about it all, but he sighed. His eyes were fixed on the scars covering Will’s arms, and Will felt suddenly extremely aware of them. He kept them hidden most of the time because they made people ask questions. 

“I am sorry, Will. You should never have gone through that. I believe Jack will be able to protect you from the physical dangers, and I will do my best to protect you from the mental. I have made my decision.”

Will huffed unhappily. 

The image of Hannibal Lecter, with his face cut, faded into existence before Will’s eyes. He saw the gashes on the man’s cheeks, and the wide grin as the blood poured down his face. Will felt the knife in his hand, and felt the resistance as he pressed it into the doctor’s flesh. 

Maybe the doctor would show more emotion when his face tore apart from his screams. Maybe Will would be able to know what he was thinking in truth, when Lecter was hanging by his ankles from a tree out behind Will’s house.

Will would be caught if he killed Lecter after this. It would be too obvious. He would be a suspect, and they would search the woods. The others would be found, and Will would be arrested.

No. He couldn’t kill Lecter. At least not yet.

But he had earned a place on the list of future grinning friends. 


	4. 4

“Hannibal let me know you’re upset with him,” Alana said carefully. 

She was trying to make him feel like she wasn’t a threat. She always did that, and he knew she wasn’t. She had never been a threat, and he didn’t see any way she ever would be much of one either. She was too nice, naïve, and trusting.

They were sitting in his lecture hall. A place that was both his own, and a completely separate entity. It didn’t have anything in it that would give anyone an idea of what he was like as a person. It retained its own personality, and energy. That was good, because the energy of most of the rooms in Quantico was that of focus and authority. It made the scruffy man who avoided eye contact pale in comparison. He looked like less of a threat than the chairs at each desk.

That was, until you started having a conversation with him. Any student who had talked to him outside of class had come away with a new attitude, and the fear of God struck into their hearts. 

Will shrugged.

“I’m not really upset with him,” he replied, “I’m upset that Jack is going to get what he wants, and I’m not. I’m petty, I guess. Doctor Lecter just didn’t play my game.”

Alana smiled.

“Well, he’ll be happy to hear that. He was pretty sure he had ruined any chances of you trusting him going forward. I think he really wants to help you, Will.”

Will knew that was as true as saying  _ he _ wanted to uphold the law. It was true, to an extent, but in a much more real sense, it would be foolish to believe. 

And Will made fools of everyone he knew.

“I didn’t think he cared that much what I thought,” Will said, “he seemed pretty content to annoy me if it got him what he wanted.”

Alana hummed and sipped her coffee. She had always been friendly to him, even though she couldn’t help being curious about his mind. Whenever Will let her know she was wandering into dangerous territory, she backed down and made a sharp turn to other topics. She was considerate in that way. 

Will had liked her from the moment he had met her, and she had a better idea of what he had been through than anyone, except perhaps Hannibal, now. She had smiled brightly, and not been put off when it was not reciprocated. She was beautiful, and Will often thought she just might be kissable. What most often turned him away from that trail of thought was knowing she couldn’t be a part of his life in that way. Not without her getting hurt, and ruining everything he liked about her.

“Hannibal can be a bit unorthodox at times,” she admitted, “but he is the absolute best at what he does. He reminds me of you, in some ways.”

That was interesting, and Will found himself curious despite the anger he still had festering inside at the thought of the other man.

“How so?” he asked, taking a sip of his own coffee. 

Alana mulled it over for a bit, carefully putting her words together. She did that often, more so when what she had to say could be offensive or insulting. With Will, she had that kind of thing to say more often than not, and he liked that she was frank with him about it. 

“He has a way of knowing things, when you can’t figure out how,” she began, “and he knows a lot of things that don’t necessarily have anything to do with his line of work. He can tell you what you mean when you say something, and make your thoughts make more sense than they did when they were in your head. His speech patterns too, there’s just something about him that reminds me of you. And you too. I can’t hardly think about one of you without also thinking about the other. Now that you know each other, it might get worse.”

Alana seemed entirely amused by all of this, though Will was growing concerned. There shouldn’t, logically, be anyone who was so similar to himself. There were many things that differed between him and Lecter, but the ones that were concerning were the ones Alana had mentioned. His thinking, his speech, his mind. These were things that should not be shared between them. It was dangerous, and especially for anyone caught between them.

The fact that Alana knew them both, and connected them in this way, was dangerous for her. Will didn’t know how to remove her from the line of fire, but he wanted her to stay the one untainted thing in his life.

“Then maybe I should give him a chance,” Will thought aloud, letting his tone show his begrudging attitude.

Alana grinned.

“I think you two could really get along,” she said, “but I know you don’t really like psychiatrists, or new people, or people in general. I really think you should try to get to know him.”

Will hummed noncommittally. 

He would certainly try to get to know Doctor Lecter more, but perhaps through some unconventional, socially unacceptable methods. He didn’t want a quid pro quo with the doctor, and he didn’t need the other man finding out more about him before he knew what was to be done about it all. 

The most he could do for Alana at the moment was keep her from worrying. When she worried, she tended to get involved where she was in too much danger.

\---

“Lecter gave you the clear,” Jack said.

Will sighed, holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder. He was making the dog food, and he didn’t really want to have this conversation with Jack. Especially not while he was at home.

The dogs had learned not to bother Will while he was in the kitchen. They knew there would be food after he emerged, but that they would be reprimanded if they got under foot. That left them roaming the rest of the house and the yard as he worked. He left the front and back doors propped open so they could wander in and out as they pleased. He knew it would be seen as careless, especially for someone in his profession, but he never felt threatened by other people. 

The lights were almost all turned off in his little house, aside from one over the stove that lit his workspace as he prepared the food. He had never minded the dark, and there was no point in lighting up the entire area like a beacon to anyone who might be out in the night. He probably could have worked fine without the single light, but it was more convenient with it on.

“He cleared me to work for you, Jack, but I already said no to that case. I know you have something else buzzing around in your ear that you want me to help with. Put me on that. I’m not doing the Glasgow Smile case.”

Jack was unhappy with it, but Will knew he would cave. He was getting what he wanted, for the most part, and would be too smart to look a gift horse in the mouth at this point.

“Alright. That other case that’s been buzzing around, is the Chesapeake Ripper case. You know about that one, right?”

Will grinned to himself. Oh, he knew about that, alright. 

A side effect of his unique set of interests and hobbies was that he kept up with the others in the area. He knew exactly what the other killers were up to, and he was probably much more well acquainted with the details of each case than most agents working them. From just a few glances at crime scene photos, or pictures intruding journalists managed to get, Will could tell more about the killers than a team of profilers being paid to do the same thing.

The Ripper was a particular interest of his, as it happened. The killer was as prolific as himself, and had an artistic purpose that he admired. It would be interesting to work on the case, and hear what others thought of the killer’s work.

“I’ve heard some,” he replied to Jack, “I thought the killer was taking a break for a while, though.”

Jack huffed.

“They were, but we’ve got another body, and I want you to tell me if it’s them. I assume you know what it means if it is.”

Will hummed in agreement. 

“If it’s the Ripper, then he’s back, and we can expect two more bodies to drop before he goes back into hiding,” he said, “so we need to work fast if we want to catch him.”

Jack huffed. 

“When can you be in?”

Will portioned out the food into the dog bowls, each dog dutifully walked in and began eating. Will watched for a moment before he decided to answer Jack. He sighed and took the phone into his hand.

“Give me a few hours,” he said, “I’ll come in, and I’ll get whatever info you have for me.”

“No,” Jack said, “I’ll send you an address. I need you there as soon as you can. It’s a crime scene, so prepare yourself.”

Before Will could object, Jack ended the call, and a moment later he got a message with an address.

Will tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. The shadows played across it from the slowly lightening sky outside. The sun would be rising soon.

On one hand, he had given Jack conditions for his participation in the investigations, and he was disregarding all of it. On the other hand, it was beyond tempting to have the chance to see the work in person. He had been all but dying to get a good look at some of the other’s work since he had discovered their art. 

Will wished there was a good option that would get his point across to Jack, while still allowing him to see the scene. While there were a few ways he might be able to, they were not easy, or very good. He would just have to deal with Jack using his ability for his own purposes for a while until he could escape. Will had long ago stopped referring to his ability as a gift, but he didn’t consider it a curse either. It simply was, and he made do with what the universe gave him. 

Will sighed and sat on the floor to pet the dogs for a bit. 

Being later than Jack wanted would at least feel like a bit of righteous revenge for the trespass. Maybe he would show up with his own breakfast as well, just to show that he didn’t work on Jack’s timetable. Annoying Jack was probably the best he was going to get for the day.

\---

“You stopped to get a muffin?” Jack asked incredulously, staring at Will as he approached the scene. 

The air was muggy, and clung to them each like personal mists as they walked closer to the tree line. This made it look as if each of the agents and technicians were glowing lightly, as the sun hit the dense air and refracted slightly, bending around their forms. The grass was just barely drying as the sun warmed it and evaporated the dew. Will could see dark tracks where others had walked across and disturbed the wet green.

“You didn’t exactly give me time to make my own breakfast, Jack,” Will said, “and you didn’t follow the conditions of our agreement. I thought I could at least get some food and coffee before I dropped everything to work for you.”

Jack swallowed guiltily, but Will knew he was trying not to show that he had been affected by the words. He wouldn’t ever admit that he was in the wrong, but Will knew how to get him to fix it in himself. 

They were both silent for the remainder of the walk, and Will kept his eyes fixed on the image before him. 

The woman had been poised in a perfect pirouette, hanging like a marionette from the branches of the tree above. Her hair was piled into an intricate halo on top of her head, and her chin was tilted up in confidence and elegance. Despite her graceful posture, her abdomen had been cut open and neatly reorganized. None of her organs were exactly where they belonged, but Will was sure there would be at least one missing. It was almost the signature of the Ripper to take an organ.

The true signature of the Ripper was a combination of several things: The artistic presentation, the death from mutilation, the missing organ, and about a hundred small things that only Will noticed in each scene. They were small, but important, and he was the only one who could be sure if a kill belonged to the Ripper or not. Despite how much the Ripper worked to keep themselves safe, Will knew the tone of their voice in this way. He would recognize their work every time.

“This was him,” Will stated, stooping down to look at the ground under the woman’s feet. 

She wasn’t touching the ground, which meant she was completely suspended by the fishing line that attached to her limbs. Her toes were pointed perfectly, and Will wondered how the Ripper had kept her so exquisitely poised . He must have done most of the work right here, in the field. 

“That’s something I meant to ask,” Jack said, interrupting his thoughts, “You keep saying “him”. Are you sure it’s a man?”

Will sighed, standing up and keeping his eyes fixed on the body 

“Yes. I’m sure. You want evidence? I don’t have any aside from the statistics. You want me to tell you something you don’t know, whether or not I can prove it? I know it’s a man. You called me in to do a profile, so I hope you can trust me on this kind of thing.”

Will had a mental image of the Ripper, as he did with every other killer he came across. The Ripper was unique, though. Very little was ever left behind, and nothing the killer did not want to have found was ever left. That meant their image was ever shifting and changing, becoming amorphous at times, and vibrantly clear at others. Will knew it was a man, but that never dictated the form the killer took in his mind. He could never predict how it would look next time he turned his attention toward it. 

Jack didn’t respond, and Will continued looking over the scene. 

There had been a time where he would have asked all the other agents to leave the scene so he could reconstruct the killing in his head, but he had evolved past that need now. He didn’t care if there were others around, and he could do his work well enough with or without them present.

Will heard nature wake up around him as the sun came out further, shining down on the dead woman. Insects began buzzing, small creatures skittering about in the trees and the dirt between the trunks, and birds began singing their discordant melodies as the day brightened around them all. 

Will wondered if the Ripper had wanted the display to be seen this way, in the morning light, or if he would prefer to have it viewed in the dark. Perhaps they would like it more in the red glow of a sunset, instead of this gentle yellow Will saw it in now.

“Can I get a profile for this?” Jack asked after some time.

Will sighed, turning back to face the other man.

“Was my last one helpful?” he asked.

He knew it should have been. The only reason it wouldn’t be seen as such would be if they didn’t understand what to do with it. He was pretty sure Jack knew what to do with it.

Jack nodded.

“It was the most detailed, specific profile I have ever been given,” he replied, “and we already have it narrowed down to five suspects.”

Will nodded.

“Well, this one is going to be different. It won’t be as complete. There is going to be less evidence, which means less for me to work with. We already know a lot about this killer, so a lot of what I tell you will be old news. I’ll help as much as I can, but I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Will explained, “hope is a dangerous thing in this profession.”

Jack nodded.

“But we have to have some level of hope in order to keep going,” he replied.

Will didn’t answer, knowing disagreement wouldn’t be received well at that point. He closed his eyes and listened to the chirping of insects in the trees and plants around him. He really enjoyed the outdoors far more than inside any structures or buildings. He wished he could just live among the trees.

“What type of fishing line is that?” Zeller asked, staring up at the near-invisible threads suspending her form.

Will glanced up and nodded.

“Fluorocarbon,” he stated, “That’s going to tell you several things about the killer, though I don’t know how helpful any of it will be.”

Zeller and Price both looked over, Zeller seeming almost insulted at Will knowing something he didn’t, and Price seeming terribly interested in learning something new.

“I’m a fisherman in my off time,” Will explained, “For one, that stuff is expensive. The killer has funds to spare, though we could have already figured that out. He chose it because it’s nearly invisible. That makes it the best for what he wanted here. He didn’t want it to distract from the picture he was setting. Second, it doesn’t stretch much. It takes a lot of force to make it stretch, so it was also good for this kind of thing. Third, it has high memory, which means it keeps its shape for a long time. It might even spring back into the shape of the spool it was on once you cut her down from there. It’s also really hard to tie right, because knots tend to fall out, not to mention the memory makes it tangle easily. Whoever the Ripper is, they know their stuff. They have to be good at tying, well off enough to afford it, and knowledgeable on what kind of line they want to use for this kind of thing.”

Price looked like he was mentally taking notes in order to spout all that information back at a later date. Zeller was reluctantly impressed. Jack seemed like he might begin praying to thank God he had decided to intrude on Will’s life and bring him into the investigation. Will was glad he didn’t, because the sight would have been irritating. He didn’t have time for God.

Will was also impressed by the thought the Ripper had put into the type of line. It was a detail not many people would have paid much attention to, but it seemed the details were where the Ripper truly excelled. Every small piece of his displays was delicately chosen and precisely placed. Nothing was insignificant or too small for the Ripper to mind. He wanted perfect control, and when it came to his killings, they had it. Nothing was overlooked.


	5. 5

“The bones in her feet were basically shattered,” Zeller said, gesturing at the now horizontal ballet dancer on the table, “I guess he needed to break the bones in order to achieve that perfect pointe.”

Will stared at the lifeless body, feeling it was a shame for it to be seen this way. She had purpose before, and they had stripped her of it. By taking her down from where she hung, they had made her nothing more than another name on a list. Another statistic. Another grave in a cemetery. Now, she was just an object, when before she had been art.

The shifting form of the Ripper peered over his shoulder, and Will could feel its disappointment mixing with his own. The Ripper was also curious, waiting for Will to speak and reveal his own thoughts of the art piece. Will could feel the darkness from the imagined creature seeping through his skin and into his bones the longer he stood there. It tickled like black feathers against his skin.

“He wanted her to become pliable. She wasn’t teachable before, in life, so he made her more open to suggestion in death. He could have positioned her without breaking her, but he didn’t just want her to obey. He wanted her to  _ learn _ .”

Will felt the familiar silence fall over them at his words. It tended to happen when he sounded frightening. He was so close to the minds of killers that he sounded like one. That was the excuse everyone gave to his peculiarity. In truth, his understanding came from a more personal interest. 

Will wondered, briefly, who would be the one to first break the silence they had cursed themselves with. 

If it were Price or Zeller, they would likely say something that would leave both Will and Jack displeased. If it were Beverly, she would say something that eased the tension and momentarily distracted all feelings of discomfort, directing the conversation away from Will. Jack would try to push the team to work harder, or faster. He would only postpone the ire that would later come to hang over Will like a guillotine.

“A man who prides himself in perfect control. He deems his vision for the world to be superior to reality.”

Will turned, not allowing his surprise to show on his face as he set his eyes on Hannibal Lecter. The man was staring right back at Will, and their eyes caught each other with quick intensity. The imago of the Ripper vanished with a speed Will had never experienced from his fantasies of the killers he created.

Alana had said they were alike, and Will was starting to think they were more alike than even she knew. There was something in Hannibal’s eyes that spoke of danger, but more of curiosity. He watched Will, waiting for him to give something away. Will kept steady in his persona, knowing there was nothing the other would be able to tell from his observations. He had tailored his disguise with painstaking precision, and he knew there were no flaws. Not anymore.

Hannibal wanted to see him react to the deaths he witnessed. _ No _ reaction was what the team expected, but would be just as telling for the doctor as any reaction would be. Regardless of what the Doctor was thinking about Will’s lack of outward emotion, it was clear he would keep it to himself until the next time Will ended up at his office for a session.

“Everyone has their own vision of how the world should be, and everyone thinks theirs is superior,” Will answered flatly, “He’s not unique in  _ that _ respect.”

Hannibal tipped his head, keeping steady eye contact, daring Will to look away first. With anyone else, Will wouldn’t have lasted this long, but there was something swirling in the Doctor’s maroon eyes that interested him more than it should have. 

“What respect  _ is _ he unique in?” Hannibal asked in response.

Will studied the man, waiting for any small sign of what he expected to hear. He knew he wouldn’t get anything unless the other man wanted him to, and he wanted to know if he did.

Nothing. The doctor made no move to signal the correct answer, staying perfectly, stoically still.

“His vision.”

There it was. The smallest turn of the man’s lip. The slight softening at the corners of his eyes. A very light puff of air that was less audible than visible. He was pleased with that answer. 

Will wanted to know exactly  _ how _ invested the doctor was in the Ripper case. He had a hunch as to the reasoning, but he needed to research the man a bit more to be sure. 

“The lines were inserted through her skin and tied around her bones,” Price continued, apparently unaware of the tense atmosphere building around him.

Will nodded, having expected that to be the case. He had seen it at the scene, and had only had to wait until the others noticed.

“The killer has surgical knowledge, but you already knew that. If he had tied it around her flesh, it would have changed the way she looked. Aesthetics are the primary concern for the Ripper. Can you preserve the knots for me to look at?” he asked, turning and directing the question to Price, who still had his fingers under the skin of the body, “I have a hunch, but I want to verify.”

Price nodded, seeming to expect Will to know more than him in that department. He was right in thinking so, but Will wouldn’t be the one to show it off. Someone else always ended up doing that for him, much to his dismay.

Will glanced over to where Doctor Lecter was watching, and caught his gaze again. His shoulders were tipped just a touch forward, toward Will. His chin was lifted a bit, and his eyes were sharply focused. There was some hint of curiosity in his posture, now, and Will wondered why he would be showing that to him in this moment. To what end?

“Jack, can I get a list of what the Ripper has taken from the victims?” Will asked, turning back to the matter at hand, “Another hunch, but it would only be distracting if I told you and turned out to be wrong.”

Jack nodded, seeming pleased more every moment he watched Will work. His view of the world would congratulate him on the decision to bring the best available tool to the investigation, and on his ability to convince someone who was notoriously difficult to get. Every time Will did well in Jack’s eyes, it was a stroke to the man’s ego where he certainly did not deserve it.

“So you  _ are _ wrong sometimes!” Zeller declared triumphantly, as if he had thought it an impossibility before then.

Will caught Hannibal’s eye once more before he answered. He wanted to see how the Doctor reacted to what he would say next.

“Only a fool thinks himself a wise man,” he said, “a wise man knows he is a fool.”

There it was again.

The small hints of a smile in the doctor’s expression. Will was curious despite himself, and wanted to know what the other man was thinking when he allowed himself to show these small bits of emotion. He was certainly unusual, but to what degree had yet to be discovered. Will was determined not to allow the psychiatrist to pose any threat to his life or freedom. If he ever seemed to know more than he should, Will promised himself he would find a way to sever the connection.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain himself by playing a few games in the meantime.

“Dude. Lighten up,” Zeller said, sounding somewhat defeated, “would it kill you to smile every now and then?”

Will turned and fixed the agent with a perfectly blank expression. He knew exactly how disturbing it would be to the man, and he was glad he already had the reputation of being creepy, if for that moment alone.

“No one has seen my smile and lived,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless. 

Zeller was frozen in place, his mouth gaping a bit in shock. He was terrified, but also completely confused. He had not expected to ever feel threatened while in this building, and hadn’t considered the other employees of the FBI to be any danger to him. He was under the illusion that he was safe here, and allowed to behave the way he wished. The idea that someone who had been directly requested to be there could in any way harm him or be a danger to him was shattering his perception of how the world worked. He was losing some part of his innocence.

It hadn’t exactly been a lie either. Excluding himself, Will didn’t know of anyone who was alive that had ever seen him actually smile. He didn’t count his small polite smiles, of course, because they were nothing more than a part of his mask. Few people would even  _ call  _ them smiles.

“That was a joke, Agent,” Will stated, huffing a laugh to emphasize his point, “I’m just not very expressive. Focus on your work, and allow me to do mine, thank you.”

Beverly chuckled from where she stood across the lab, and Zeller shot her a venomous glance. Katz remained unfazed by his ire, waving it off as if it were nothing more than a bothersome fly. She reminded Will of a cuttlefish. She was intelligent, curious, adaptable, and had good humor. That would all serve her well, as long as she didn’t become too curious about anything that could put her in danger. There were bigger predators in the water, after all.

“He’s got a point, Z,” she said, “you want him to lighten up, but you can’t even figure out when he’s joking. Maybe you should just mind your own business when it comes to Graham.”

Will studied Beverly again. He had been right in his initial assessment that he would be able to get along with her. She was very likely the only agent on the team who would not become offended by his constant blank expression and monotone voice. She simply added it to her concept of him, and moved on.

\---

“How is the Chesapeake Ripper treating you, Will?”

It was an odd way to phrase it, but maybe it was just part of Doctor Lecter’s psychiatrist charm. Will tapped his fingers on the armrest of the chair, sure the small tic would annoy the Doctor, just a bit. It wasn’t that Will wanted to  _ upset _ Doctor Lecter, but people were typically more likely to slip up and show something they hadn’t meant to when they were distracted by something they were not pleased with. 

Will saw the man’s eye flick to the movement, and Will was pleased. It was working, at least a bit. He might just be able to see something in Hannibal’s face as they conversed.

“About as well as any other case,” Will replied, watching for a reaction.

Jack had decided to put Hannibal on the Glasgow Smile case, needing someone to profile the killer in Will’s absence. That made their conversations more interesting. Will knew Lecter was interested in the developments of the Ripper case, so they had fallen into a sort of subtle rhythm. Will would purposefully make Hannibal ask for details if he wanted them, and Will could learn more about what the Doctor thought about his work by discussing that case in return.

They were both very careful never to give away more than was asked for.

Hannibal was resolute in his decision not to react to Will’s reply, apparently. Not a hint of emotion touched his features at Will’s casual disregard of the question.

“And how is the Glasgow Smile case going for you, Doctor?” Will asked.

Reciprocation was a common aspect of their conversations. Neither of them asked a question without being prepared to answer it in return. It was like a macabre dance between them, turning, twisting, spinning, and carefully avoiding the body parts that littered the ballroom floor. It was just a matter of time before one of them tripped over something, or grew tired of the activity. It was a game to see which of them it would be.

“Developments are slow and uncommon,” Hannibal replied coolly, “The killer is very aware of their actions, and is careful to leave little trace of themselves behind.”

That meant they didn’t have any physical evidence. Hannibal was probably being pressed for insight at every turn. Will would have paid money to see Jack pester him the same way he did Will, though Will had the sneaking suspicion he wasn’t quite as discourteous to the Doctor.

“Has your Viking angel maker been caught?”

Will snorted. That killer was many things, but Will did not in any way want to claim them as  _ his _ . They were a minnow where he was fishing for a shark.

“Probably,” he answered, “I can’t imagine it has taken them this long to figure it out. I’m not technically on that case, though, Doctor.”

Lecter nodded in deference. 

Will was still trying to figure out what it would take to make the man drop his  _ perfect _ control. Even for a moment. So far, small annoyances had not worked, and he knew outright rudeness would only make the man close off even more. He needed to find a way to get more out of Lecter than he gave.

“Jack has given me the impression that you were quite adamant you not be put on the Glasgow Smile case, which is why I have been,” Hannibal noted aloud.

Will shrugged, also refusing to give anything away. It was almost stunning how  _ little _ they managed to say to each other over the course of an hour every week where they did nothing but talk.

“Sometimes a case just hits a bit too hard,” he said, “and he tried to ask before I got my eval, which was a broach of our agreement.”

“Your  _ verbal _ agreement.”

Will raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I didn’t sign anything, but that also means I can quit working for him the moment I see fit, as I have not legally bound myself into servitude on his behalf. I prefer it that way, despite the fact that I am usually the only one who remembers the precise details of the agreements.”

Hannibal inclined his head, just a touch. He was curious. Will needed to use that. He had to keep the man curious, but not hide so much that it seemed Lecter wouldn’t be able to find out what he wanted.

“Do you have a very remarkable memory, Will?” he asked.

“Eidetic,” Will replied flatly, “always have. Sometimes it’s helpful, but most of the time it’s just another one of the things echoing through my head when it’s least convenient. What about you? Do  _ you _ have a very good memory, Doctor?”

Hannibal smiled. It was just another one of his simple, single movements that gave away nothing. 

“I was taught at a young age how to best utilize the spaces in my mind,” he replied.

Will nodded, relaxing back into his chair.

“You’ve built yourself a memory palace, then,” he concluded, “that’s the way most people do it. Theoretically, you won’t forget anything ever again. Of course, unless you make it to old age and your neurons start to decay, I suppose.”

Oh. Now _ that _ got a reaction out of the man. Just a moment of surprise, and his distaste at the idea of growing old and forgetful, flashed over his features. He thought that would be boring and he, for some reason, did not plan to have that happen.

Will was fascinated. It looked like the best way to learn about the man was to surprise him, but he was not surprised by the same things most people would be. Will’s dark humor and intelligence didn’t earn any reaction. Will would have to work hard to find out what would best catch the man off guard.

A man who was in  _ perfect _ control of his mannerisms, who was intrigued by the minds of killers, who seemed to share Will’s mentality to a point where Alana had noticed. He  _ despised  _ the idea of growing old and seeing his body and mind decay before his eyes. 

“That is the theory,” The man agreed, pulling himself together with admirable efficiency, “have you used any sort of method to improve your memory, or at least your ability to organize information within?”

Will studied the man across from him. He sat with his long legs elegantly crossed, and his fingers interlocked on his knee. He was much like a golden orb weaver. A beautiful spider with aesthetics that other spiders would envy, and delicately created traps that would prove fatal to any prey that wandered too near.

“I’ve never felt any strong connection with any  _ man _ made structures,” Will offered truthfully, “so my mind contains no palace.”

Will could see the psychiatrist growing more interested, and the slight tilt of his head was as good as the man sitting on the edge of his seat. 

“Then you must have captured areas from the outdoors in which to store information,” Lecter said, probably sounding more curious than he had intended to.

Will shrugged.

“I don’t store information in  _ places _ , Doctor,” he replied, “I store them in moments. With everything that entails. With sights, sounds, feelings, every sensation. I remember every part, even if I didn’t notice it consciously at the time. It’s like having snow globes on shelves, each one holding a moment frozen in time. I just have to pick it up and shake it in order to relive it entirely.”

If Hannibal hadn’t been curious enough before, he really was now. He had actually moved forward in his seat, just a tiny amount that most people wouldn’t notice. Will had plucked on a few of the fibers of the web, and Lecter was coming to investigate if he was predator or prey. 

“Are all the memories yours?” the man asked.

Will tipped his head, but otherwise didn’t react to the question. He wanted to show Doctor Lecter that he was not so easily read as most people. He would not be able to pull Will apart without having Will pull back. Will didn’t give up anything without a fight.

“I know that some of them are, I know that some of them aren't, but there are a few that land in the grey area,” Will admitted, “that just comes with the territory.”

Hannibal nodded, relaxing back in his chair as if he realized he had moved forward and was trying to cover up the fact that he had been so interested. He was waiting for Will to get caught in the web, so he would not have as much of a fight when he went in for the kill. Little did he know, Will was not prey in this scenario. Perhaps neither of them were. Only time would tell.

“Our memories are what build our personalities,” Doctor Lecter said, “we draw from our experiences whenever we are faced with a new scenario, in order to make a decision on how to act. Do you feel you have taken parts of your personality from those whose memories you now possess?”

Will laced his fingers together and crossed his legs so he was mirroring Lecter’s posture perfectly. 

“My mind is full of mirrors, Doctor,” Will replied calmly, “and only some of them show my true reflection. It takes time to learn which of them can be trusted, and every now and then I run into a new one and have to learn what it shows.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Lecter considered what had just been said, and Will watched for signs of what the man was thinking. He was getting better at seeing the small things in the other man, but they were still hidden and vague. It took a lot of concentration to be sure what he was thinking.

“What about you, Doctor?” Will asked after a moment, “are there dangers in your mind palace? Places you dare not go? Shadows you pretend not to see?”

Lecter seemed to be pulled forcefully out of whatever thought he had been entertaining, and he blinked. Will had caught him off guard once again, and he watched intently.

Hannibal pressed his lips together, just a bit. His shoulders tensed almost invisibly. He pressed the pads of his fingers harder into the backs of his hands. His gaze was distant, but sharp and dark.

“My mind palace is not without its dangers,” he answered, “and one must tread carefully within their own mind no matter what their past contains. I am no different.”

Oh, now that wasn’t fair. Hannibal was purposefully downplaying the horrors his past held. Will could see he had true tragedy somewhere in there, but the man was good at hiding it. Will wondered what he would have to do to dredge it up. He knew a few party tricks, so to speak, that might be able to get him there. 

In reality, they had gotten him kicked out of every party he had used them at, but they had been requested first. He wondered if Hannibal would be the type of person to reject him once Will started digging, or if he would grow more curious. From what he had seen so far, Lecter was more curious than judgmental when it came to his abilities, but he knew better than anyone that was no promise for the future. 

“I think you have some real dangers in your mind palace,” Will said, staring Hannibal down, “Right at the center, at the beginning of construction. There are some deaths there. Significant people.” 

Will hummed in thought, watching as the other man slowly retreated inside himself, leaving his expression just a shell of a human. A puppet without a master for a moment. 

“Close family. Both your parents, I think. And someone  _ else _ . Even more important to you. Someone you thought was everything. Someone you would have given the sun and moon to. You were young, but they must have been younger than you. Maybe a sister. A little sister who was taken from you. You still think of her, and you still have nightmares when something reminds you of her. You’ll probably have a nightmare tonight because of me.”

Hannibal stood up abruptly and turned, walking quickly over to his desk. 

Will tipped his chin up as he watched. It was the most extreme reaction he had ever gotten out of the doctor, and he was interested. He wanted to see what the man would say in response to everything that had just been said. 

“That was incredibly intrusive and personal, Will,” Hannibal said, his tone dark and dangerous.

Will didn’t reply. He watched as Hannibal braced himself against the desk. His shoulders were tense, and he was breathing slowly. After a moment of silence, Hannibal turned back around and looked at him.

“I believe I would be justified in some level of anger towards you.”

Will nodded.

“That’s how most people react,” he agreed, “but you’re more interesting than most people. I was curious to see what you would do. It’s not as if you have avoided asking  _ me _ intrusive questions. I didn’t ask a single question, and you are free to deny anything I have just said. The reason you won’t, is that I’m right. It’s not everyday someone looks you in the eye and tells you about yourself. Feel free to do the same to me.”

Hannibal sighed, and he looked tired. It made him look older. 

“You are aware I do not have the same ability as you,” Hannibal said, leaning back so he was sitting on the edge of his desk.

Will stood to walk over near the doctor. He felt powerful, seeing the man withdrawing inside himself just from the effect of Will’s words. Words were the weapons that dealt the most damage to Hannibal Lecter, Will had discovered. He intended to use them with as much precision and efficiency as possible. 

“But you have some insights into how you think my mind works. I know you do. So tell me what you think you’ve figured out.”

Doctor Lecter looked up at where Will stood, his expression wary when he met Will’s gaze. Perhaps he knew what Will intended to do with his new found power. Perhaps he only had a sense of the venom in Will’s fangs. 

“You are asking me to reveal my hand, when you have only revealed a card,” he said.

Will shrugged. 

“I’m not a fan of card games, Doctor. I consider this chess, in which case I am just asking you to make your move.”

Doctor Lecter nodded slowly. He seemed unsure, and Will knew that was not something he was used to feeling. A man like Doctor Lecter was confident and self-assured at all times, in order to have the upper hand even when he would otherwise be at a disadvantage. Will had managed to outplay him at a game he had thought was his own, and he was coming to terms with that.

They were both spiders, but Hannibal was only used to playing with small insects. Will had spent his entire life playing with the other spiders. Doctor Lecter was going to have to get used to playing with opponents on his level if he wanted to have any chance against Will.

“You hide your trauma, though you pretend to be upfront with your past. The scars you have shown me are the least of what has happened to you, and they are the most you are willing to show anyone. In truth, you have been changed by your past in a way you choose to hide from others. Perhaps you worry you will be rejected by others if they discover what ways you have been changed.”

Will hummed thoughtfully as he leaned against the desk in the same way Hannibal was. He stared across the room to the large windows and let his entire posture relax. He knew Lecter was still watching him carefully, and he wanted to show the man that he was not intimidated. Will wanted Hannibal to know they were on an even playing field, but he refused to give anything away outright. He wouldn’t confess to anything, even if Lecter decided to confess something to  _ him _ . 

“What if I told you I wasn’t changed by my trauma?” Will asked softly, still not looking to the other man, “that what happened to me was not a diversion of my path, but an  _ acceleration _ of it.”

Hannibal watched Will carefully as he spoke, and Will wondered what he was thinking. If he had suspicions towards Will, which he almost certainly did, then he might be starting to understand exactly what  _ kind _ of monster he was. Will wanted to know exactly what kind of monster  _ Lecter _ was.

“I would admire your ability to evolve through pain,” Hannibal replied, turning to stare across the room where Will was looking, “and I would marvel at the beauty of what you must have become, that you would keep to yourself. I wonder if you will ever find anyone you think is  _ worthy _ of seeing you in all your glory.”

They both let the words hang in the air between them for a few minutes. Will didn’t feel any need to answer his wondering. There was nothing pushing him to satisfy Hannibal’s curiosity about him. There was no reason to give him what he wanted when Will still hadn’t found what he wanted himself.

“You are convinced that, whatever I have become, it must be beautiful,” Will noted, his voice soft.

Hannibal nodded.

“I can catch glimpses of it in your eyes sometimes,” he replied, “when you are surprised, or pleased. You may not seem expressive to most people, but your eyes truly are the windows to your soul. They speak louder than your voice at times. I would even hazard a guess that this is the reason you avoid eye contact when you can.”

Will took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Another signal to the other man that he did not feel threatened. No matter how dangerous Hannibal might be, Will showed confidence that he was more so.

He wondered what the other man would make of his obvious gestures. What he would think about someone who clearly did not fear the lion in the room. It could either be taken as foolishness, or rightly as a challenge. 

“Eyes have always either said too little or too much, in my experience,” Will answered, “even as a child, I avoided the eyes of others in any way I could.”

Hannibal sighed softly. Will couldn’t tell if he was resigned to being understood, or frustrated at his own lack of understanding, or perhaps something else. Even with the insight into Lecter’s past, Will could not entirely predict what the man was thinking. He was an interesting person, and Will was enjoying the little game they were playing.

“Was it my eyes that betrayed the horror of my past?” Hannibal wondered aloud. 

He did not seem to expect an answer, but Will knew he would not begrudge one either. 

“More or less,” Will confirmed, “You are much too careful with your actions to give anything away unless you intend to. That is, apart from the moments you are surprised. I have managed to surprise you a few times, and each time I gathered another piece of the puzzle. When I put them together, I realized the tragedies your past must contain.”

They were both silent for a moment. There was nothing they needed to say. Will knew Hannibal would be studying his own actions, looking for times when he gave away bits of information. The man was not used to having anyone read his actions, or know about his past. He was accustomed to being mysterious and well-liked. Will took no small amount of enjoyment from being the first, and most likely only, person to catch him in this way.

Will still had a few tests he would need to put to the man before he could decide what was to be done about him.

Jack had inadvertently given Will an easy path to kill the Doctor if he ended up finding it necessary. The man was now investigating him, without anyone knowing it. If Hannibal ever came too close to identifying Will as the Glasgow Smile killer, Will would be able to take him out and display him for all to see. It would be a shame he could not join Will’s friends in the forest, as he was one of the most interesting people Will had met. Regardless, Will did not yet intend to kill the man. He only wanted to learn about him for now.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! A very spooky chapter today!

Will hauled the man up into the tree, using all of his weight as he pulled on the rope. The body lifted slowly by the ankles until he was almost face to face with his killer. A slight breeze made him sway gently in the dark, almost making him look like he was still struggling against the bindings. Will fastened the rope with some sailor’s knots. 

The man had stopped screaming hours before. He had stopped breathing too, but Will didn’t really care what order those had come in. The thing he cared about was that the man was still smiling. A wide, bloody smile that would never fade. 

“You know, I don’t really care much about most people, but it’s really unforgivable how you have been acting,” Will said, checking again that he hadn’t left any evidence, “they’re still kids, even if they’re in high school. You almost got away with it, but you can’t hide from me. Just be glad you have this smile.”

The body didn’t say anything. They rarely did. 

Will walked off into the night. He never used flashlights or lamps when he worked. He liked the dark, and his eyes adjusted well enough that light just wasn’t necessary. He was a ghost in almost every sense of the word. He had perfected the skill of not being noticed, and he never left signs of his presence aside from the grinning friends that he had scattered over the city. 

Will came to a street that he had walked down a few times before. He had not made it a regular thing, nor would he allow it to become a habit. That would rouse suspicion from the inhabitant of the grand house he eyed this night.

Hannibal Lecter’s house was as grand as the man himself. It was as carefully maintained as his own appearance, and just as much of a façade. Will had watched the house a few times, and had even followed the man once or twice as he went about his day. He was good at that kind of thing, and he knew the Doctor was unaware he had been tailed. The man had an active social life, going to operas and concerts frequently. He also played a few instruments, and cooked his own food. Will had seen him go to a restaurant once, and knew the man must be a very good cook to satisfy his own tastes. 

There had been one night where Doctor Lecter had returned home very, very late. He had pulled into the garage and closed it before he exited his Bentley. 

That night, Will had been extremely careful not to be seen. The next day, Hannibal had left his house at a similar time, and Will had followed as he drove to a secluded area. 

Will knew now the kind of monster Hannibal Lecter was. 

Will’s psychiatrist was the Chesapeake Ripper. The killer Will had been obsessed with for years, and the only killer Will knew was close to his match.

What Will was going to do about that was still yet to be determined. 

The body, only a block and a half away from Hannibal’s home, would hopefully earn Will some reaction, but he didn’t risk relying on that being the outcome. He knew the man too well by now to assume he would react in any clear way to what was most certainly a message to him.

But, of course, Jack and the team would have no way of knowing it was a message to Hannibal. Only the Glasgow Smile killer and the Chesapeake Ripper knew what it meant, and it would stay that way unless the good Doctor decided to turn one or both of them in. 

That being said, Will was always prepared to make a quick getaway if he needed. He had known since the beginning of his hobby that it could result in him needing to leave the state, or country, or wherever. He had plans and resources set in place so he would be able to do just that at a moment’s notice. 

The dogs were an unforeseen obstacle to that plan, though not an insurmountable one. He had an email at the ready, always, to Alana so she would make sure they were taken care of. If he needed to make an escape, they would not be forgotten, though he did feel a bit bad that he would be essentially abandoning them.

It could be worse, though.

There was a light on in Hannibal Lecter’s house, this particular night. 

It wasn’t unusual for the man to be up late into the hours of darkness, but Will thought it was almost poetic that he would be up and about at the very time Will was leaving him a gift. It was as if the universe had put them into each other’s lives, and now they were mirroring the actions of the other in some Shakespearian plot.

They were likely to be a tragedy, in that vein of thought, though Will couldn’t predict what might happen.

A shadow passed in front of the window with the light on, and it paused there. 

Will wondered if Hannibal was looking down at him from the window, considering who would be out so late at night and just standing on the sidewalk across from his house. Surely, it could be a coincidence, but perhaps not. What purpose would someone have of standing just where Will stood, if not to stare up at the grandiose house across the way? 

Will had given thought to the possibility of being seen during his outings, and was wearing a long coat that obscured his silhouette considerably. He was also wearing a wool hat that would change the outline of his rather distinctive curls. Without a light shining on him, there was no way Doctor Lecter would be able to positively identify him as who he was. 

All the suspicion in the world was not evidence.

Will considered how he might look from the vantage point up in the window. The air was muggy, and the few street lamps that were around had halos through the fog. He might look like some noir character, walking down the street in search of a clue. Perhaps he looked more mundane than mysterious, and Hannibal would just brush it off as someone finding themselves in a bout of insomnia.

Whatever the case, the Doctor and Will stood for only a minute or so, looking at each other, before the doctor moved on and Will decided to follow suit.

Will saw the light click off from his peripheral vision as he walked back down the street. His rented car was about two blocks past the tree with the new smiling man in it, and he made his way there with a casual stride. 

There was nothing more suspicious than someone running down the street, in a long coat, in the middle of the night, without anything to light their path. Especially when there were serial killers on the loose in the area.

The rental car was something Will did more out of convenience than any real need. If anyone happened to see the car near the place he strung up the body, it was plain and unremarkable in its entirety. Not once had he been spotted in his time of doing this, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. His own car would be more memorable, being old and louder when it ran. He liked using the new models for his work, because no one would peg him as the kind of man to own one, or even drive one on his off time. They were a smooth drive, and inconspicuous. 

Will drove back home and removed the tarps from the back seat. He tossed them into the shed and went inside. 

The dogs all lifted their heads from their beds, but didn’t get up to swarm him. They knew to stay in bed when Will moved about late at night. They knew he would only click his tongue and send them back if they got up to welcome him home. 

Will shucked off his coat and tugged the hat from his head. He put them both back in the closet, in the back to suggest rare use, but near enough to other items to avoid indicating they were being purposefully hidden. 

Will took a shower, mostly to get the smell of the man off of him. The man hadn’t quite begun smelling like death, but he still smelled like someone other than Will. If anything, Will was aware of himself enough to know he couldn’t smell like a murder victim when he went into work the next day. Not that most people would recognize the scent of another person on him, but Will never liked taking risks when it came to forensic evidence. Every contact leaves a trace, and he was determined to never to leave anything behind that could help anyone identify him.

Will set his alarm, knowing he would be waking up in only four hours.

He always looked a bit sleep deprived, so he knew that wouldn’t be odd. He could run off of far less if he must, but he did try to get regular, healthy amounts of sleep when he could.

\---

Will set his cup of coffee down on his desk while he prepared for the day. He only had one lecture scheduled for the entire day, and he was glad for it. 

Jack likely wouldn’t be coming to him that day for anything, since he was not working the Glasgow Smile case, so he would have time to pursue whatever he chose to for the day. He might even stop by the labs to see if anything had come up in regards to the Chesapeake Ripper. It would ease Jack’s mind, giving him the belief that Will was really determined to catch the serial killer. 

For the most part, Will looked forward to going back home earlier than he normally would. He would spend time with the dogs, hike through the woods a bit, and make sure there was enough food for the dogs for the next week. He would settle in with some whiskey, sitting on the front porch as the dogs milled around in the yard, and reply to student emails in the evening. 

His appetite had been sated for the time, having been fed with the high school counselor the night before. Unlike the other victims Will had displayed to be found, the man hadn’t killed anyone. Not with his own hands. He had been a predator of a different kind, but equally if not more loathsome. The children he had taken advantage of had suffered needlessly, and several had taken their own lives. Their potential for either good or evil had been extinguished by the man’s inability to control his own impulses.

Will was not a slave to his impulses that way. He had calculated, and watched, and waited. He had acted with careful precision, and would not be caught or punished for his actions. He would not be found with a too wide grin, presented for all to see.

Will amused himself with thoughts of how Doctor Lecter had reacted to the news of a body being discovered only a short distance from his sanctuary of a house. He went through the lecture, imagining the blank, empty shell of an expression that happened only when the man was stunned.

Or maybe Lecter would have been expecting something like this, and only a twitch of his lips would show his amusement at the idea. None of the agents would catch it, and Will wasn’t there to see. He would scan over the body as if it might suddenly reveal something to him, but secretly he already knew everything it had to say. His maroon eyes would sparkle with interest that no one could see, but burned in the recesses of Will’s mind nonetheless. 

The students didn’t notice he was not entirely there during the lecture. He was off in his head more often than not, so there was nothing to suggest anything was different today from any other. He was simply a creepy professor with an odd temperament.

Will began to pack up his things, already planning out the trail he would follow with the dogs that afternoon. 

To say he was surprised when Jack walked in would have been about accurate, but Will never allowed himself to be startled. No jumpscares had worked on him since high school, and people were constantly trying to make him jump. Human beings, it seemed, were prone to attempting the impossible.

“I’ve got a scene for you, Will,” Jack said.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a statement and a demand. 

Jack looked tired. Will wondered at what time that morning his gift had been found. He could picture Jack, asleep in his bed, next to his delicate wife, being woken up by the ring of his phone. He would have grumbled, rolled away in an attempt to leave his wife asleep as he moved about. He would have cursed when he was told the news of another body to be added to the count. He would have dressed, remaining quiet for his wife’s benefit. He would have pressed a soft kiss to her temple before leaving. It was not unusual, so there was no need to leave a note or wake her up to explain.

“Is it the Ripper?” Will asked defiantly, reminding Jack that he would not be working on the Smile case.

Jack sighed heavily.

“Yes. I’ve got one body from each of my big cases right now, and I need you. Doctor Lecter is already working on the other scene. Of course, I’ll need you to confirm it’s from the Ripper, but I have a feeling about it.”

That was unexpected, but Will was careful not to let his surprise show on his features. 

If Hannibal had expected a body to turn up for him, he must have sent one in reply before even knowing there was one to reciprocate. Or, perhaps he had decided the figure on the street had been a signal that it was time. Maybe he had known, on some base level, that it had been Will, staring up at him from the sidewalk across the way. Maybe he had just known.

Whatever the case, Will couldn’t lie to himself about the electricity buzzing over his skin at the idea of a body waiting for him. A gift, just for him, from the killer he had been watching for years and had recently learned to know.

If Hannibal knew about Will the way Will knew about Hannibal, he couldn’t even imagine what artistic form the gift would be presented in. As well as he knew the Ripper as a killer and artist, he didn’t yet truly know him as a man.

Will followed Jack to the parking lot. He followed to a car, and sat in the car, stewing in his own mind as they drove. Jack didn’t ask him to speak, and he didn’t offer to. He wasn’t entirely sure what words may spill from his lips if he were to open them, but he selfishly kept them to himself regardless. His thoughts were no longer public property. They belonged exclusively to himself and the Chesapeake Ripper.

\---

Oh. It was  _ beautiful _ .

Will had worried the message would be one of anger for having been discovered, or even a warning to leave the Ripper alone. Will knew the Ripper was a solitary type of person, and had wondered over the possibility that he did not want company at all. 

But this.

Oh  _ this _ . This was not a warning. It was not meant to dissuade Will from his predatory pursuit. 

It was an  _ invitation _ . 

For all the world to see, the Chesapeake Ripper was inviting Will Graham to get to know him. Of course, no one could really see it. No one but Will and the sender. 

Will had to take a moment to see the scene from the eyes of the blind. He had to become Jack, or Beverly, or even Zeller, god forbid. He couldn’t tell them about the symphony that played circles around his brain, and the splashes of paints against a canvas that colored the lenses of his eyes. He had to pull himself back and only reveal what they would believe, and be able to see.

Will pulled in a shuddering breath closing his eyes to sear the image to the inside of his eyelids. He knew he would look like he was steadying his nerves, steeling himself and preparing to head into the fray that was the crime scene. 

That was a good thing about emotions. A lot of them looked just like each other from an outside perspective. 

Will opened his eyes again, setting them determinedly on the body and walking forward to get a closer look. 

The details. What the Ripper was best at. The details would be the most important. They would reveal everything Will wanted to know. He just had to get there and see them.

The body was sitting up in a chair, fastened with what Will had known he would see. Fluorocarbon fishing line. It was most definitely tied around his bones, then to the chair. It kept him sitting perfectly, his head drooping forward as the only indication that something was amiss. That was, until you really looked at him. 

The man’s front was drenched in his own blood. A crimson cascade down from his cut throat and over his chest down into his lap. The man had been dressed in a freshly pressed and starched suit, like one would wear to an opera or such. The shirt had been unbuttoned to expose his chest, though it was soaked in blood. His chest had been opened, and his heart had been removed. In the place of the vital organ was a carefully carved piece of what Will immediately identified as brain matter. It had to be relatively fresh or the brain matter would have lost shape and been nothing more than jelly.

Will pulled his eyes up and stared at the face of the man. The eyes were closed, and he seemed almost peacefully asleep. It was a near thing, but Will spied the seam on the forehead where the crown of his head had been surgically removed.

Will waved Price over. Beverly had apparently been called to the other scene.  _ His _ scene.

“Lift up the top of his head,” Will said, grateful that at least he wasn’t left with only Zeller, “his brain isn’t in there.”

Price almost jumped at the idea, but he used his gloved hands to do as Will asked. The top of the man’s skull pulled cleanly off, giving Will a clear view of one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

The bowl of empty skull had been filled with potting soil, and in the center was a small bonsai tree. It had coral colored blossoms, and shiny green leaves. It was surrounded by nearly a dozen tiny reflective gravestones. Mirrors. They all faced toward the tree, making round rows that all reflected the green, brown, and red of the plant.

This had been a long time in the making, and Will wondered how long Hannibal had known about his monster. Had he known the moment they had first set eyes on each other? Had he figured it out after Alana inevitably told him how similar they were to each other? Maybe he hadn’t known until their most recent session, where Will had asked him to make his next move in their chess game.

Will itched to see the man again, if only to set his eyes on the artist who had created this for him. If only to see which one of them might make the first move. To see if either of them would lunge and try to end their game in one of the two viable options. 

Instead of bolting away to find Hannibal, like some lost dog having heard his master call, Will turned slowly and levelled his gaze at Jack.

“He used his head when he should have used his heart,” Will said, waving at the body, keeping his expression as carefully blank as it always was, “and his mind didn’t have a thing to offer by way of beauty. He didn’t create, or when he did it wasn’t worth the effort. There was nothing beautiful in his mind, so the Ripper took it from him and replaced it with something worth looking at. He gave him a piece the size of the heart he never used, telling us that it was about the same amount of his mind that he used at all. He wasn’t intelligent, and he wasn’t capable of love. He just served to take up space, and waste oxygen. The Ripper is doing us all a favor.”

Jack’s face thundered, though he didn’t release his voice to follow suit just yet. Price scurried around the scene, keeping himself busy to avoid Jack’s gaze and, by extent, his ire. 

“He used fishing line again,” Jack said after a long pause.

Will nodded.

“One common thread between two people with no other connections besides the fact that he killed them. Maybe he just liked it so much after the first time he used it that he decided to add it to his repertoire. Whatever the case, it still doesn’t tell you anything about him that you didn’t already know.”

Jack sighed heavily and nodded. He wasn’t looking at Will, and neither of them said anything else. Jack just stared at the body, and Will just imagined what Lecter would be thinking of his own gift. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter until December first. I'm taking a hiatus for NaNoWriMo, trying to write a whole novel. I don't want to have the option to come on here and read and/or write stuff that isn't the novel. I'll be back on the first of December with a new chapter, and I'll get back to you all if you comment while I'm away. 
> 
> Happy Halloween! <3


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are cleared up, and dinner follows.

Will had been dragged to the labs, but he was nearly humming with nervous energy as he listened to Price drone on about the toxicology and other findings on the body. 

It was genuinely amazing how the Ripper managed to never leave fibers or hairs behind at any of his scenes. As far as Will knew, Hannibal had no training in forensics. Will’s own training was what he had contributed his success to in the past. Hannibal had no such thing to accredit his own abilities to. Perhaps he had learned through trial and error, though Will doubted very much he had ever allowed that much risk to go into the work. 

He would have to ask the man eventually. Right now, he had to finish giving his “reading” of the scene Hannibal had left with tender care, for his eyes only.

“It’s a pomegranate bonsai,” he stated once there was a pause, “He wanted this body to be found, or at least seen, by someone specific. It’s a message to them, as much as it is a message about the victim. It’s an invitation to whoever he expected to find it, of some sort. Pomegranates, like in Greek mythology. If they accept his invitation, they’ll be trapped in his kingdom. Food grown in the underworld.”

Price grimaced. 

“I hope this guy’s friend doesn’t eat the seeds,” he said. 

Will turned sharply, feigning epiphany. He inwardly laughed at the universe for setting him up to give them this information spontaneously. He hadn’t been sure he was ever going to tell them, but the timing was perfect.

“He’s eating them,” he said in a hushed tone, rubbing a hand over his face in mock exhaustion.

Jack rounded on him, then, scowling, but not angry at Will. He was angry at himself for not knowing what the words meant, and angry at the Ripper for causing it all.

“Eating what?” he demanded.

Will met his gaze steadily. He didn’t blink or back down. He didn’t show weakness if it wouldn’t serve him.

“The organs,” Will replied calmly, though allowing his voice to sound disgusted, “It’s the hunch I had before. The reason I asked for a list of the organs he had taken. I wasn’t sure until now, but I know. He’s eating the organs. He’s a cannibal. “

“ _ It’s only cannibalism if we’re equals, _ ” an accented voice whispered in his ear. The sound caressed the back of his neck like ice cold fingers, and he had to repress a shiver.

Will knew that very well, but Jack and Price would not agree or understand. He reprimanded the voice of the Ripper, tutting at it for not recognizing his acting for what it was, or not caring before correcting him.

“Oh god,” Price murmured, looking a bit green.

“ _ Just about, _ ” the voice purred, from black lips on an antlered form, brushing close to Will’s ear.

“Even if you know who it is, there won’t be anything left to find, unless you catch him before dinner,” Will stated, taking a bit of enjoyment in the way both Jack and Price grimaced at the idea.

“Well, the victim's name’s Clark Ingram,” Price said, pulling a paper from somewhere near the computer and reading off it, “a social worker.”

Will tipped his head, blinking a bit.

He hadn’t recognized the man’s face, but he knew the name. Clark was one of the serial killers he kept tabs on at all times. He killed young women, girls. Many of them. Honestly, Will had put him on the list of future grinning friends years back, but had never gotten around to ticking him off. There had been times when he had watched Clark mistreat a few of his cases, kids or disabled adults, and he had very nearly forgotten his own rules and killed the man without preamble. Without ceremony. 

This truly was a gift for Will. The Ripper had done him a real favor by killing Ingram, and had used him as the medium for an invitation. 

Will was going to buy Hannibal Lecter some real expensive whiskey for this. Or maybe wine. Hannibal was more of a wine person. Will knew it, but he still mulled over if he wanted to pander to the man’s tastes or push something new onto him. 

Beverly sauntered in, looking tired despite her confident walk and faint smile. She was a strong person, and Will admired that in her. She faced things head on, and didn’t allow herself to be changed by the horrors of the world.

“That was one hell of a crime scene,” she told Will, shaking her head, “the freakshow put a mirror in the mouth of this one. Right on the roof of the mouth, since the guy was upside down. It would have been on his tongue otherwise. Still had a Glasgow Smile, of course. The dude had a word carved into his arm too. It just said _“yours”_. What the actual hell is going on with this one?”

Beverly talked as if she were completely unaware of the body on the table, or the others in the room. Only Will, herself, and the body she had just left behind existed in the universe for this moment. 

As she spoke, Will felt the air fill with electricity, and he knew Hannibal had followed her here.

Without responding to her ramblings for a moment, Will turned and met Hannibal Lecter’s gaze. The connection was intense, making Will’s skin erupt into goosebumps in a way he could only describe as pleasant. It was like being doused in cold water after being out in the bayous without air conditioning all day. 

Will saw Hannibal’s pupils dilate like a liar in court, the maroon shrinking to slivers around the blackness. His eyes crinkled slightly, the way he smiled without smiling. His breaths were soft and shallow. Anticipatory.

And, for that moment, they were gods. There was no power above them, and nothing else mattered but them. The Ripper fled from behind Will and converged with the man who embodied it in full. Will’s image of the man and the man himself melded into one incandescent creature. 

“It’s almost humorous,” Will said, aiming the words to Bev without breaking eye contact with Hannibal, “it seems both killers had the same idea. Ours had mirrors in their head.”

Jack groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need two psychopaths running loose in Baltimore. I have my plate full already,” he complained, sounding like a child. Will knew he would absolutely hate that comparison.

“You’ve got more than two psychopaths loose in Baltimore,” Will replied dryly, finally tearing his eyes away from Hannibal to stare at the body once more, “you just have two that are being a problem for you at the moment.”

Jack was not happy with him. Will hadn’t been trying to appease him with the statement. He had just been realistic. It was one of the reasons people thought he was creepy. He told the truth, no matter how dark or terrifying it was. He never sugar coated anything. Unless, of course, it was something that could incriminate him.

“Do you have anything to give me about the Ripper?” Jack asked, his tone dangerous.

Will shook his head, straightening up and leaning toward the door. 

“I’ll get out of your hair, Jack. I’ll write everything up and get it to you as soon as I can.”

Will turned and left, hearing Hannibal make his own excuses as he walked down the hall. The man said basically the same thing Will had, promising to give Jack a write up soon and walking out behind Will.

Will didn’t slow down as he walked. If Hannibal wanted to talk to him, he would have to catch up. Will almost smiled at the image that thought conjured in his head. He walked very quickly, and anyone who tried to catch up to him had to basically jog. Hannibal would look absurd, jogging in his plaid three piece suit.

Before the thought had completely faded, Hannibal was walking in step beside him. He hadn’t heard him walk, much less jog, but there he was. Completely composed.

“It seems our killers are converging in their methods, at least in a way,” he commented casually, his hands folded together behind his back neatly.

Will hummed in agreement, giving Hannibal a sideways glance.

“It certainly does look that way,” he said.

They walked together in relative silence until they were out in the parking lot. Will saw that Hannibal had parked directly beside his car, and he almost smiled. Of course Hannibal had parked next to him. He was an odd sort of person in that way. It was almost… affectionate.

Once they were standing by their respective vehicles, Will turned to Hannibal and folded his arms. He leaned back against his car and looked the other man up and down. Hannibal stood still, as if awaiting inspection. The air between them was still charged with energy, waiting for one signal or action to snap it.

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Will said after a minute, pulling away and opening his door.

Hannibal nodded politely.

“Very soon,” he agreed, opening the door to his own car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

They both pulled out of the parking lot, heading their separate ways. 

Will knew they were actually headed in the same direction, in a way. Their paths were converging, and there might not be that much of a difference soon enough.

\---

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal said, smiling politely and opening the door wide for Will to enter.

Will nodded, stepping in and offering the bottle to Hannibal. Hannibal accepted it graciously and studied the label. 

“Thank you very much, Will. It may not pair well with what I have planned for tonight, but I will plan something accordingly for next time.”

Will raised an eyebrow at that. 

Next time. Hannibal expected this to be a regular thing. Or at least recurring, if not frequent. That held promise. If anything, it showed he didn’t intend to kill Will just yet.

“You’re the expert,” Will replied, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up.

Hannibal’s smile warmed, and he began to lead Will through the house.

“Preparations are nearly done. I’ve been told it is entertaining to watch the completion of the dishes, so you are welcome to join me into the kitchen,” he offered pleasantly.

Will nodded and followed. As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, he wondered who else Hannibal had invited into that room. It was clear this was Hannibal’s true domain. The sterile surfaces and gleaming counters, accompanied by the warm smells and humming energy, all told Will that this was the true heart of the house. This was where Hannibal was himself. 

Thinking to what Will knew of the Ripper, he huffed a laugh. 

Of course the kitchen would be his true home.

Hannibal glanced up at the sound, having been putting the bottle of wine away. He must have seen the traces of amusement in Will’s face despite the lack of smile, because the corners of his eyes crinkled again. He was pleased.

Will leaned against the counter as he watched Hannibal work. The man ruled the kitchen with a delicate hand, as if it really was a kingdom. His slender fingers worked precisely, and his movements were confident in a way only achieved with practice. 

And there it was. A heart. 

Will raised an eyebrow as Hannibal finished roasting the braised meat, and the man smiled up at him.

“The heart is a lean muscle, and the consuming of the heart is a powerful image. It is the metaphorical home of emotions and attachments. It is also key for survival, regardless of connection to emotional processes. The brain tells the heart to pump, and in return, the heart transports fresh oxygen to the brain. The human body is a well balanced system, and delicate.”

As Hannibal spoke, he continued to work, and glanced up to Will periodically. Will watched him intently. There was something warm and enticing in the way he spoke. He had a passion for the words that shone through his voice and his eyes. He had a comfort in his limbs that showed how pleased he was with not only his work and words, but his company as well.

“When we consume the heart, we consume the power source of the body,” Will agreed, “and when we eat the brain, we eat the soul.”

Hannibal glanced up from his work and smiled widely. He was pleased with Will, for whatever reason.

Hannibal transferred the heart to a wooden cutting board and nodded for Will to follow him into another room. 

The kitchen was the heart of the house. It was the heart of Hannibal. The dining room was the stage. His amphitheater, where Hannibal performed, showing his guests the parts of him he wanted them to know and remember. 

There were two places set, across from each other. Hannibal set the cutting board down between them. He beckoned for Will to sit down in the seat across from where he stood, and Will did. Hannibal began to slice the heart, and Will saw it had been stuffed in some fashion. Hannibal placed a few slices on each plate and unbuttoned his blazer as he sat in his own chair.

Will had the notion that, despite being in Hannibal’s theater, Hannibal was not putting on an act. He was showing Will himself, whatever that entailed.

“Do you hunt, Will?” Hannibal asked casually, a mischievous glint in his eye as he cut a bite of food.

Will hummed, cutting his own bite and mirroring Hannibal’s movements.

“I fish more often than hunt, but I confess I don’t typically eat anything I hunt,” he said, placing the tender piece of meat onto his tongue while holding eye contact with his host.

Hannibal’s pupils blew wide once again, and he tracked the movements of Will’s jaw and the constriction of his throat as he swallowed.

It was delicious. Will would never be able to deny that Hannibal had really outdone himself with cooking the heart. While he had never considered cannibalism before learning the Ripper partook in it, he had to admit that it tasted divine. 

“I admit I may have to amend my ways if it always tastes this good,” Will continued, letting his eyelids flutter with pleasure. 

Hannibal swallowed, though he hadn’t taken another bite yet. He tore his eyes away from Will, looking back down to his own plate.

“It can be both an act of dominance and an act of honoring to consume what one has killed personally. An intimate act,” Hannibal said.

Will noticed the slight roughness that had come into his voice suddenly, and he was pleased at being the cause. Hannibal’s mask was falling away, and he was letting it.

If all went well, Will would discard his own mask by the end of the evening.

“I don’t care to honor the fish I catch,” Will replied bluntly, taking another bite, “and the novelty of dominating them has worn off over the years. I wonder if it would be different, were I to eat what I hunt.”

Hannibal’s eyes lifted again, setting on Will’s face with something akin to awe. His jaw worked idly, chewing his food before and after he had swallowed it. It was as telling as a nervous tic in a witness on the stand.

“The novelty has worn off for me, personally,” he replied, “though I occasionally find an item of prey more worthy of honoring. I am sure to savor them appropriately.”

Will hummed in agreement. He took another bite and closed his eyes to experience the flavors. It also served to assure Hannibal he was still unafraid. Not only was he unafraid, but he was not intending to attack Hannibal either. A predator would not blind himself while stalking their prey.

When Will opened his eyes again, he met Hannibal’s gaze. The maroon eyes had widened slightly, and flicked to Will’s lips as he chewed, with little shame.

“What do you suppose the mirror in the victim’s mouth today was meant to symbolize?” Hannibal asked, apparently ready to bring an end to the game they were playing around each other.

Will hummed, letting his gaze unfocus and grow distant.

“It was meant to show how someone speaks exactly what others are thinking. It’s a way to be seen as normal. If you sound like the thoughts of your company, how can they reject you?” he replied, then focused on Hannibal’s face again, “What might the mirrors mean in the victim of my case, Doctor Lecter?”

Hannibal smiled.

“The Ripper has met someone whose mind is beautiful, and has the ability to reflect both the best and worst of others. This person has learned to reflect the best of themselves, turning them inward and magnifying the beauty their mind contains,” he replied, sounding entirely pleased with himself for it.

“A bit heavy handed, don’t you think?” Will asked, huffing a laugh and raising both his eyebrows at the man.

Hannibal wet his lips, smiling just enough to flash his sharp canines.

“What about “ _ yours _ ”?” he shot back, amused more than anything.

Will shrugged.

“I own seven dogs,” he replied, “dinner at my place would be less convenient. I’m sure you understand.”

Hannibal grinned, and it was absolutely brilliant. It changed his entire face in a way he certainly didn’t do in front of people usually. His eyes sparkled, and Will could see his breathing had quickened a bit. As they grew closer to the end of the game, it became easier to elicit reactions from him that were visible.

“I would not ask for anything else,” he replied.

Will looked directly at Hannibal, Doctor Lecter, The Chesapeake Ripper, and a man who was hopelessly smitten with him, and  _ grinned _ .

Hannibal’s breathing hitched, and his smile dropped. He just stared, his expression more one of awe than anything. It was the look of a man who had been blind all his life, but finally had the ability to see the stars. 

\---

“You are beautiful, Will,” Hannibal breathed, his hair falling in front of his eyes, “with every scar a testament to your glory.”

Will hummed, rolling them so he was pinning Hannibal down. He was still grinning, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to stop. Having suppressed his expressions for so long had been bound to leave an impression, and he was finally able to express himself freely. He was going to have to work to build proper boundaries between his separate lives now. 

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever find I have to kill you,” Will replied.

Hannibal didn’t fight the change, allowing himself to be pinned. Will wondered if he was doing it as an act of submission, or in an attempt to fool Will into thinking it was. Hannibal just smiled wickedly at him, his maroon eyes sparkling in the low light. They were almost black in the dark, like blood in the moonlight.

“Have you given that much thought?” he asked.

Will traced one finger along Hannibal’s cheek, feeling the smooth, still intact skin there. He was still curious about how Hannibal would look with scars that matched his own.

“Of course, haven’t you?” Will replied.

“Yes,” Hannibal answered, “though I would be sorry to see it come to that. You have given me no reason to deem that necessary.”

Will chuckled. Hannibal didn’t know the half of what Will had done just yet.

“I wanted to kill you, after our first conversation,” Will confided, “and even more after our second. You were the first person I met who wasn’t easy to manipulate with the usual methods. I don’t allow anyone to pose a threat to my freedom.”

Hannibal turned his head and caught Will’s hand between his teeth, just firmly enough to hold it still without hurting him. He released Will’s hand after a moment, and Will dropped it down to the man’s throat.

“Would you have given me a unique death, or simply strung me up the same way you always have the others?” Hannibal asked, the words thrumming against Will’s palm.

Will ducked down to graze his teeth over Hannibal’s lower lip, delighted to hear the man’s breath stutter again. 

“If I had killed you then, I would have done nothing special for you. If I decide to kill you anytime in the future, nothing will compare.”

Will could feel Hannibal’s pulse quicken under his hand. He had guessed at what would please the man, and was glad to be proven right.

“I wondered if you would be more expressive as I cut through your cheeks,” Will admitted, letting his nose brush the hair just under Hannibal’s ear, “I wondered if you would allow yourself to scream. It wouldn’t be any fun if you didn’t scream.”

Hannibal keened under Will, clearly having a hard time remaining still. A strangled sound escaped him, and Will hummed curiously in response.

“I would not have,” Hannibal gasped, “you would have been disappointed had you killed me already.”

Will smiled against the skin of Hannibal’s shoulder. There was something thrilling about having the man at his mercy, knowing what he had done. The Chesapeake Ripper had killed so many with his hands, and yet he allowed them to be pressed against the mattress by Will. 

“I believe that,” Will said, “and I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been so disappointing to find out a killer I had so admired had been taken so easily. I would have found out, you know.”

Hannibal nodded sharply, his eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling above him. It seemed he was being careful to retain control over himself, despite the compromised situation he allowed himself to be in.

“What makes you think I would have been killed easily?” he asked, though it sounded as if he was having a hard time choosing his words.

Will applied a bit of pressure to Hannibal’s windpipe, testing the waters a bit. Hannibal swallowed, making his throat pulse heavy under Will’s hand.

“I am very good at what I do, Doctor Lecter,” he answered, “I have been following you recently.”

Hannibal blinked, apparently brought back to the present for a moment. His gaze focused, and Will could see his mind racing as he tried to decipher when he had been followed.

“You didn’t have a clue,” Will said, grinning, “aside from the one night, you never saw me. You never saw me, but I saw you. What do you do, when you stay awake nearly all night, in your study?”

Hannibal’s chest was heaving as if he had just run a marathon. He was slowly coming undone, and Will relished the sight. The Chesapeake Ripper was unraveling under his hand.

“I compose,” he said, choking out the words as if they were wild things that he had just managed to catch in order to utilize, “or I just spend time in my thoughts. It is better to keep the lights on for such things.”

Will hummed in agreement. He was familiar with such things, though he much preferred the dark to the light. Lights could burn and expose, while darkness was safe and calm. He supposed there were bound to be some disparities between them like that.

“To keep you from stumbling into the dark recesses of your mind,” he concluded, “perhaps one day you will show me something you have composed.”

Hannibal nodded feverishly, as if it was the only thing he could do. Will could feel his patience fraying with every moment that passed, and he was curious to see how far he could string it along before the man snapped.

“For someone who prides himself in having perfect control, I wonder how you must feel to have your control stripped from you,” Will mused, allowing his tongue to trace over the artery in Hannibal’s neck.

Hannibal seemed to have run out of patience, then, because he immediately rolled them over again so he was once again looking down at Will through a soft fringe of hair. Will only smiled up at him.

“How will you feel when you have yours stripped from you?” Hannibal asked in reply, his voice rough. His accent rolled off his tongue more strongly than usual, and Will wanted to taste it.

“Are you going to just ask that, or do you want to find out?” he snapped back.

Hannibal growled.

\---

Will let the dogs out and propped the doors open again. He hadn’t had the chance to walk through the woods recently, but he didn’t have the time tonight. He would try to take some time out in the next few days to do just that. 

In the meantime, he had work to do.

It was clear to him that Hannibal Lecter played primarily with small fish, and Will wanted to be sure he could handle a barracuda or two. He needed to be a shark, or he was no use to Will. Their flirtations with each other and the FBI would have to come to an end if he wasn’t as serious as Will wanted him to be.

There was a barracuda Will was familiar with, and they would be more than thrilled to have his attention. 

Matthew Brown thought of himself as a hawk, and Will admired his passion. It was a good quality in a young killer, despite the fact it often spurred carelessness. It would be a relatively easy thing to convince Matthew to go after Hannibal. All Hannibal would have to do is kill Matthew, and Will would gift him something impressive.

All Will had to do was be sure Matthew understood the message, without leaving anything that could be traced back to him regardless of the outcome. 

It was possible Hannibal would be angry with a test of this nature, and that he would retaliate by trying to reveal Will’s hobby. It would do well for Will to be prepared for something like that. 

Will carefully set everything in motion, making sure he could predict exactly when and how things would occur.

If Matthew somehow managed to kill Hannibal, Will would be beyond angry. He would kill Matthew without another thought, but it would have been a waste. Will was sure Hannibal would be able to best Matthew, so he didn’t give it much thought, but the notion crossed his mind. If Hannibal died, Will would have to find someone else, and he had been looking for long enough he knew it would be a difficult thing. There was only one Chesapeake Ripper, and Will would be hard pressed to find anyone even approaching that level.

No, Matthew could not win. Hannibal would be more careful now, knowing Will had managed to follow him unnoticed, and he would kill Matthew without giving it a second thought.

What Will really had to worry about was how Hannibal would react to being a target. Will could tell it was not a notion he was used to. He had been a target once, when he was young, and never again. Will didn’t know what the man would do when he was deemed prey by someone else. 

Will needed to be prepared for any outcome, and he had to be sure he had time to prepare for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from my hiatus! I'm returning to my usual update schedule, and I'll be getting to all the comments as soon as I can. 
> 
> You may have noticed this fic now has a finite number of chapters. I have actually written it completely out to the end, and was surprised to find it shorter than I expected. Never fear, though. I am already started on a sequel to this fic, which will be entirely from Hannibal's POV. I'm not sure when it will be ready to start posting, but be on the lookout for that after this one comes to an end. <3 <3


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal responds to Will's test

Will removed his friends from the trees. It was a risk to have them there, especially if Hannibal grew angry with him over Matthew. He was sad to see them go, but he couldn’t help the anxious energy he felt at the idea of how Hannibal would kill Matthew. 

The friends were dismembered and buried, Will being careful not to leave any traces of himself behind as he worked. They were now much farther away from his home, so there was no reason they would be linked to him if they were found. Any killer in their (albeit strange) right mind could have chosen these woods as a dumping ground. Their bodies would become food for the plants and animals of the woods soon enough, and Will didn’t really have to worry about them anymore. 

He would get himself some new friends soon enough.

Hannibal was strong and quick, Will knew that well enough. He would easily be able to win a fight between himself and Matthew, even considering Matthew’s odd obsession with his perfect physique. Matthew’s strength was more of a show than anything practical. Hannibal’s was much more applied and trained. 

Will was fairly sure Matthew had never actually killed anyone, in that vein of thought. He may have, but they would have been easier to subdue, or he would have found them in a compromised position already. He had never fought a man like Hannibal. Will was sure of that.

By noon that Saturday, Will was sure his plan was well underway. Everything was set, and he would certainly be hearing about it soon enough. 

All that was left to do was wait.

\---

Will woke with a start, staring up into the dark from his bed. He could see Hannibal’s outline looming over him, and he recognized the cold press of a knife against his throat. It was a terribly intimate sensation, like how he imagined the cold kiss of death would be when he finally gave into that darkness that called from the corners of his mind and allowed himself to take the plunge into whatever came after this mortal existence.

“I wondered if you would decide to kill me for that,” Will said, keeping his tone calm despite the fact that he was anxious to see how this all turned out. He could feel his pulse quicken, just a bit, the way it did when he killed.

Hannibal didn’t respond. He was breathing heavily, and Will tried to see his facial expression through the dark. He smelled blood, but that wasn’t a surprise. It should belong to Matthew.

“Did you drive all the way here still covered in blood?” Will asked, wanting Hannibal to say something.

“Yes,” came Hannibal’s reply. His voice sounded hoarse, and his breathing was still heavy. 

Will considered that for a moment.

“You sound like you’ve been nearly strangled,” he noted, “I hope all that blood belongs to Matthew.”

Will was slowly moving his hand up towards his pillow, reaching for his own knife to even the playing field. He didn’t always sleep with a knife under his pillow, but he had anticipated this kind of situation. Now, he was glad he had thought to put it there, because he wasn’t in a position to move very far in order to defend himself.

“You sent a boy to kill me,” Hannibal growled, sounding more offended than actually angry.

Will scoffed, careful not to let the knife on his throat draw blood yet. If he were going to let his own blood be shed, he would get some answers first.

“Well, obviously it didn’t work,” he replied, “and like you said, he was just a boy. Not exactly a challenge for someone like us.”

Hannibal clicked on the bedside lamp, showering them in light and revealing what Will had worried about.

There were dark bruises around Hannibal’s neck, and one of his lips was split. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, and Will wet his lips at the sight. Will couldn’t move his head to see the rest of him, but he was sure Hannibal had been more injured during the fight than he had planned.

Will pulled the knife from under his pillow and pressed it to Hannibal’s throat, right over the ring of bruises there.

“Alright, now that we’re a bit more evenly matched, want to tell me how he managed to catch you off guard?” Will asked, watching as Hannibal considered the knife held against his own skin, “I expected him to be an easy kill for you, Doctor Lecter. He’s a little fish in comparison to us.”

Hannibal’s pupils dilated, and there was a sharp intake of breath. His tongue darted out and swiped over the split in his lip. 

“You didn’t intend for him to kill me,” he said softly, as if he wasn’t sure he believed it yet.

Will scoffed again.

“Of course not,” he said, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of Matthew for years. I just wanted to make sure you could hold your own against someone like him. You mostly play with prey animals, Doctor.”

Hannibal sat back on his heels, still straddling Will’s hips. He held the knife more loosely, balancing the blade on his fingers. Will also loosened his grip on his own knife, though they both kept the blades between them in preparation for anything. 

“You thought to test me,” Hannibal realized, his tone low and dangerous, “knowing what I am, and what I’ve done, you thought to  _ test _ me.”

Will looked over Hannibal’s torso, noting every scratch and cut he could find oozing blood onto his clothes. It was far more than he had expected, and he was frankly disappointed that Hannibal had allowed it. That had not been the plan. Hannibal was not supposed to have ever been in real danger.

“You survived,” he said, “you won. Now let me look at those cuts. You’ll bleed to death if you don’t get patched up quick.”

Hannibal nodded numbly and moved the knife to the bedside table. He rolled off the bed and stood beside it as Will stood to meet him.

“The dogs are in the yard,” Hannibal said as Will led him into the kitchen and turned on the lights, “I fed them to keep them from waking you.”

Will nodded as he got out his first aid kit.

“If you’d have hurt them, I’d be fixing to do something other than stitch you back together,” he said.

Will turned back to Hannibal, who had removed his shirt. He had a few deep cuts, and what seemed to be a graze from a bullet on his bicep. It was much more than Will had expected Matthew to manage, and he set his jaw as he looked over Hannibal.

“He smelled like you,” Hannibal said, sounding dazed.

Will snarled in surprise and anger. He let out a string of curses that would put any sailor to shame, and got to work washing the blood away from Hannibal’s wounds.

Matthew must have come by while Will was moving the friends. The foolish boy would have broken in and touched Will’s belongings. He was too proud and confident in himself. Will had warned him away, but he obviously hadn’t listened.

“He’s more of a reckless idiot than I counted on,” Will said, “I told him not to come near me or my dogs. He knew it could be incriminating for us both. He had better be dead, or I’ll kill him myself, and I won’t let it be quick.”

Hannibal nodded, smiling a bit.

“He is dead. I almost wish he were not, only so I could witness your majestic cruelty,” he said.

Will huffed a laugh. At least Hannibal didn’t seem to have lost any of his unique charm. He certainly had a way with words.

“Well, I guess I owe you one,” he said, “hold on, this is gonna hurt. I owe you one, so pick someone, and I’ll channel all that  _ majestic cruelty _ in order to give you one good show.”

Will stitched up the first gash, finished the neat row of stitches, and clipped the thread. Hannibal was taking the pain well, though he was clearly stressed about something.

“I hope you aren’t awful upset with me,” Will said, wishing the man would just say something to him, “I really didn’t expect anything to come of it. Matthew was a stupid kid, and you’re the  _ Chesapeake Ripper, _ for god’s sake. How did he even land a blow?”

Hannibal sighed. Will saw the slight shift in his posture, and realized Hannibal was actually ashamed of this. He was embarrassed to admit anyone had caught him unawares. He hadn’t thought it possible before.

“I was much more cross when I thought you had been trying to play me as a fool,” he said softly, “and I am ashamed to say he managed to catch me in a moment of weakness. I was listening to a symphony while I sketched, and was too caught up in my activities to notice his approach. He had the element of surprise on his side, I’m afraid.”

Will shook his head at himself.

“ _ I’d  _ have been the fool if I’d tried to play you,” he said, “and I’m glad he didn’t do what he set out to do. I’d have had to kill him myself if he did, and then I’d be alone again. I’m not keen to lose you now.”

A hand landed in Will’s hair, making him still momentarily. Hannibal began to gently pet over his head and card his fingers through Will’s curls. Will continued to stitch up the gashes, smiling at the fond attention. It was something soft and domestic. Nothing like he had ever had before, much less expected from something like this. To this point, their interactions had been filtered through a lens of violence and bloodshed. They were creatures of fire, and had fought to consume each other. This was soft, and wholly unlike how they had treated each other so far. It belied a change, and Will was curious to see what would happen.

“Your southern drawl is much more prominent tonight,” Hannibal said gently.

Will chuffed. He usually suppressed the accent for multiple reasons, but Hannibal was right. Tonight he had let slip, and his words were running off with him in their own fashion. He had a lot of things in his life he hid from others, but it was all coming out with Hannibal.

“It gets like that when I’m upset,” he agreed, “and I’m mighty upset at seeing you like this. I’m real sorry.”

Hannibal chuckled softly.

“I have never had someone else attend to me after an altercation, aside from a professional, who was also a stranger to me,” he confessed, “I am finding I rather enjoy it. I wonder where you learned to stitch a wound.”

Will grinned up at him, really glad he had someone who he could let see his wide Glasgow scars. He had wanted for a long time to be able to show this side of himself to someone without worrying, and it was better than he had expected. He had known for years that he would only show them to the Chesapeake Ripper, and now he could. Now he  _ did _ .

“I’ve been wondering where you learned your forensics,” he replied, “since we’ve never found a trace of you anywhere. I went to school for that, but you learned  _ this _ kind of thing.”

Will finished up the last few stitches and put away his gear. Hannibal watched with hooded eyes, tracking every one of Will’s movements with the warmth of a content cat.

“In medical school, one learns many things,” Hannibal said, a smile in his voice, “of course, that is dependent on what sort of experience you  _ choose _ to have.”

Will laughed. 

“You saying you partook in some activities of questionable legality while in college?” He asked, moving to cage Hannibal in against the counter.

Hannibal hummed, pulling Will close and breathing in deeply. It was like he was filling his lungs with Will’s scent, and that thought made Will smile more.

“Perhaps. Did you?”

Will kissed the dark bruises on Hannibal’s neck, wishing them away despite himself.

“No. Not in college. I was a straight arrow for most of my life, fighting the darker side of my thoughts. It wasn’t until my  _ encounter _ that I gave in.”

Hannibal kissed Will’s cheek, right over the scar.

“Who did this to you?” He asked quietly.

Will grinned again. He felt the pull of the scar tissue, but he was suddenly glad for it. He could love this part of himself with Hannibal. Hannibal had adored the sight of his scars the moment Will had shown them, and he didn’t seem to be on the verge of changing his mind just yet.

“A wannabe razor gang,” Will answered, “but don’t worry. They were the first people I chose to string up. They looked so much better with their much  _ wider _ smiles.”

“I believe you,” Hannibal said, as if it were a secret.

Will hummed.

“Stay the night?” he asked, “It’s only fair, especially after the day you’ve had.”

Will punctuated his words with a kiss to the bruises again. He didn’t know when he would be able to forgive himself for them. The other injuries, he could have even enjoyed, but these bruises were a testament to his misjudgment. He hated them.

“Where else would I go?” Hannibal asked, nuzzling into Will’s hair.

Will smiled. Even if it was unfounded, he liked the thought that Hannibal had nowhere else to go but here. In the event of trouble for either of them, the place they could go would now, and hopefully always, be to the other.

\---

“I thought you were going to be nothing more than another play thing for myself,” Hannibal confessed, watching the sun rise from his seat on the front porch.

Will tipped his head and studied the man. His hair was still slightly ruffled from sleep, but he managed to make it look nearly regal. It was a peculiar facet of the man. He kept his dignity in all things.

“What made you realize I’m not?” he asked.

Hannibal didn’t answer for a moment, letting the words hang in the air like dust caught in a sunbeam. Will wondered if it was because Hannibal worried how Will would react to the answer, or if he was unsure of the answer himself.

“When I saw your gift for me,” he said at length.

Will raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected that. Hannibal had been “playing” with him all the way up until they had exchanged kills. While it was clear the game had not been what the man had expected, Will had expected their timelines to be a bit closer to identical.

“That recently?” he wondered aloud, “I must have been doing well in my act of innocence, then.”

Hannibal shook his head.

“I thought I might kill you, the day you peered into my head like another snow globe. I had the idea to try changing you. I thought to make you use that mind in another way. I wished to redirect your attention away from myself, in order to avoid discovery. When I saw your gift, I quickly realized I do not want you to direct your thoughts to anyone other than myself. I would like to keep your focus for as long as I can. Then, you became an equal to me in my eyes. You are not a thing to be toyed with. You are something to be admired.”

Will huffed a laugh and smiled.

“That’s certainly a new outlook on things,” he said, “Most people who get to know me at all think I’m just someone to be worried about. Whether they have to worry about me  _ being _ insane, or  _ going _ insane. It’s good to hear you aren’t worried.”

Hannibal smiled and looked over to Will. His gaze was soft, and he looked actually happy. Will had the sense that Hannibal was unaccustomed to being truly happy. He had spent most of his life in a mildly content state, and had grown to believe that was the extent of his happiness. Now, he was rediscovering the feeling, and it was foreign to him.

“There is remarkably little I find myself prone to worry about. With you, there has been much more,” Hannibal admitted, “I was more upset than I could have anticipated when I smelled you on Matthew. I thought you had only wanted to know me in order to have me killed. I was angry with myself for having allowed it.”

Will frowned. That had not been part of the plan. That stupid boy, Matthew, had hurt Hannibal in that way. Matthew had caused Hannibal to feel that emotional pain.

Will stood up and walked over to Hannibal. Hannibal looked up at him, and Will sighed. He reached out and took Hannibal’s hands in his, pulling him up to stand. Will curled his hands into the soft fabric of the sweater he was wearing, wishing he had more experience with relationships. He was flying blind, and he hated it. He had worked so hard to be prepared for everything, but he hadn’t planned on actually getting attached.

“I’m pretty damn angry at myself for letting Matthew do that. I was too busy covering my back in case you decided to rat me out, and I gave him an opening to break into my house. I didn’t even think about him doing that. I thought he was just going to do what I said. I was just as stupid as him in this.” 

Hannibal sighed softly.

“Even you cannot perfectly predict the actions of others every time,” he said softly, placing his hands gently onto Will’s arms, “There is no reason to be angry with yourself for the misstep.”

Will grimaced.

“This misstep could have gotten you killed,” he reminded, dragging his eyes up and staring at the hateful bruises around Hannibal’s neck, “and I can’t afford to make that big of a mistake in my life regardless.”

Hannibal kissed Will gently, as if soothing away his fears.

“You are no longer alone, Will,” he said, “neither of us is alone. I can help you when there is trouble, now. I hope you will do the same for me, now that I have passed your test. There is no one who can come against us in this world. We are gods of blood and breath, and none can defy us.”

Will bared his teeth and swiped Hannibal’s feet out from under him. He caught the man just before he completely hit the ground, taking a fistful of his shirt to hold him by.

“As great as it is to say that, and no matter how right it sounds and feels, we are not immortal. We are not gods in any respect but our own beliefs. We can’t let ourselves start to become so proud,” Will said, “we can make mistakes, and they could get us killed. We’re only humans, regardless of what we do.”

Hannibal grinned up at Will, getting his footing back and managing to swipe Will’s feet from under him in turn. They both tumbled onto the wooden porch, and Hannibal rolled so he was pinning Will down.

“We may be humans, Will,” Hannibal purred, “but no others are our equals. You would not try to convince me so.”

Will grinned, showing off his wide scars.

“I’d like to say that kind of thinking will get us killed, but I honestly can’t think of anything I believe more deeply than that in this moment,” he said, leaning up to bite Hannibal gently on the jaw, “We’re the closest thing to gods that exist in this world, and I’d raze everything to the ground before I let anything touch you again.”

Hannibal hummed, lowering himself down so their bodies were pressed together and Will was completely pinned to the porch under him. Will keened a bit, for Hannibal’s benefit, and grinned. Hannibal mirrored the expression and nuzzled into Will’s hair.

“I will show you the most wondrous things, Will Graham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. Like I said, I'm working on a sequel that's gonna be from Hannibal's POV, so if you're interested in that, watch out for it. I'm not sure when it will be ready to be posted. I have plenty more where that came from. <3


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